


Remember Me

by mahisquared



Series: Remember Me [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Incest, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Sibling Incest, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-05-28 03:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 60,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6313438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahisquared/pseuds/mahisquared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Told from both of the twins' perspectives, Remember Me tells the story of what happens when Ford actually gets to go to his dream school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! If you have read the mini series of mine on my tumblr (subwaystanwich) then this chapter is going to feel very familiar--I've borrowed heavily from it. That'll only be for this chapter, though!

Ford had messed up. Big time. He sat there on the floor of his bedroom, eyes closed, listening to the sound of his parents arguing. Where Stan was, he had no idea. Everything had been normal, just moments ago…and then Ford had to do it. He just had to react didn’t he? He just had to make the world’s dumbest move, and now…

He pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around his legs. Ever since he was a boy, he had been attracted to his twin brother Stanley. At first, he hadn’t recognized the feelings for what they were. He just assumed everyone felt that way towards their siblings. But as he grew older he realized that his feelings were very different from other sibling relationships. He first realized this when he was eleven and imagined kissing Stan on the mouth. Ford fully came to understand his feelings when he hit puberty and started imagining kissing his brother in other places.

Stanley had been the object of his every teenage fantasy. No girl or boy in existence could compare to the perfection that was his twin. But Ford knew that these feelings were wrong, frowned upon, even illegal in some places! If his family were to find out, he’d be disowned for sure. And what would Stan do? Ford liked to believe that his crush would be reciprocated, but was pretty sure that his brother felt only familial love towards him.

And these feelings had been confirmed. He could still feel the heels of Stan’s hands digging into his shoulders as he shoved him away…

Earlier that night had been their 18th birthday party, celebrated with the family. As usual, Ma and Pa were bickering over something, but the two boys had gotten everything on their wish lists for the first time in living memory.

He and Stan had gone upstairs to their bedroom, and they had chatted happily about their presents, and both bemoaned the fact that once again, their parents had to ruin the night by having a spat. They had just started to settle into bed, when Stan started that fateful conversation.

Ford felt so happy. This was the first time in a while where he didn't feel stressed, and really felt like he could let go and be himself. He was halfway up the ladder to his bunk when Stan spoke.

“Tonight was good. Even though...you know, Ma and Pa.”

“Yeah,” Ford said, pausing on the ladder. “It was great.”

“You excited to go to that nerd school?”

Ford laughed. “Of course I'm excited Stan! This is my dream, my calling! How could I not be?”

Silence fell between them, but it wasn't a comfortable silence. It was tense, and Ford could tell something was wrong. Slowly he climbed back down and joined his brother on the bottom bunk.

“What's up?” Ford asked.

“I just don't know what we are anymore,” Stan said quietly. The words hung in the air, and time itself seemed to stop. What the hell did that mean?

“We're...brothers, friends...” Ford said. _We could be lovers too,_ he thought in the back of his mind.

“Are we?” Stan said, turning his head. “Brothers, yeah, okay. We'll always be brothers, we're bound by blood. But...man, I dunno 'bout friends anymore.”

“S-stan?” Ford asked, and he felt like he was going to cry. Just seconds ago they'd been laughing together, smiling at one another. How could he go from that to this in such a short amount of time?

“It's the way you've been treating me Poindexter,” Stan said. “'Snot like I don't wanna be friends, it's just...tonight was the first night you've acknowledged me, been nice to me in a really long time.”

“Wha—that's not true!” Ford said heatedly.

“Yeah it is!” Stan said, standing up. He began to pace. “Ever since you were told about that school, you've been ignoring me! You just shut yourself up in our room, lock me out.”

Ford gulped. That was true. He had locked Stan out of the room, multiple times, ignoring the knocks, sometimes even bangs on the door. He had just wanted to work on his college admissions project in peace!

“This is my room too, you know! And...and...every time I try and talk to you, you just grunt at me, or snap at me...and...I just don't know if you're my friend, my enemy, or what!”

“Enemy?” Ford said furiously, standing up, and striding towards his brother. “Enemy? Ok, maybe I've been on edge and I haven't given you the attention you need or whatever, but _enemy?_ Really?”

“How do you feel about me then?” Stan said, balling his fists. “Am I just some loser holding you back? Do you even give two shits about me? Either...either treat me nicely or treat me like shit, make up your mind!”

And without really knowing what he was doing, Ford had lunged forwards and slammed his brother into the wall with his forearm. Stan looked shocked, and even a little scared. They locked eyes, Stan's full of fear, Ford's full of anger.

“You wanna know how I feel?” Ford said, frustration dripping from every syllable. 

“I think I get the picture,” Stan said, dropping his gaze.

“No you don't!” Ford said, and suddenly his mouth was on Stan's, kissing him roughly. He could feel his brother freeze but then...

Then Stan relaxed and was kissing him back and everything was perfect. Ford dropped his arm and instead put it around his brother's waist pulling him closer, kissing him deeply, hungrily...

“N-no!” Stan said suddenly, breaking away from Ford, and shoved him backwards with all his might. He stepped slowly away from his brother, swallowing hard. “No.”

The two stared into each other's eyes, Stan breathing heavily, and Ford looking sheepish.

“What's got you so aroused all of a sudden?” Stan huffed, keeping his distance. “And...and why are you taking it out on me?”

“You wanted to know how I felt about you,” Ford said.

Stan's eyes grew wide. “You mean I—are you saying you want to fuck me?”

Ford didn't say anything, but the look on his face gave everything away.

“Seriously?” Stan said, shocked.

“Stan...” Ford said, approaching his brother.

“Get away from me! Just...fuck off!” Stan said loudly, and slammed their bedroom door open, tearing out of the room.

“Goddamnit!” Ford said, his voice hitching. “Goddamnit.” Everything was ruined. Ford had singlehandedly destroyed their relationship with a kiss.

* * *

Stanley burst into the half bath across the hall, and practically ran over to the sink. He turned on the cold water, and splashed his face with it. What the hell was going on?

One second he was demanding an honest opinion about himself from his brother, and the next second…well, he supposed that he had gotten what he asked for. An honest opinion.

How could Ford feel this way about him? Stan wondered how long his brother had harbored these feelings. Disgust and revulsion filled him, but after a few moments he realized that these negative feelings weren’t directed at Ford. No, they were directed at himself.

Because the fact of the matter remained, he had kissed his brother back. It had felt so natural, so perfect, like this was how they were supposed to be. But of course, reality had come crashing down upon Stan’s shoulders and he had realized what the hell he was doing. This wasn’t just some random hot guy he was kissing, it was his brother. His _brother._

And that kiss…Stan spent a few moments trying to convince himself that it had been a brotherly kiss that just so happened to be on the mouth. That could happen, right? Brothers could share a platonic kiss on the lips, right? But Stan gave up on that line of thinking pretty quickly. That kiss had been passionate, needy. Ford’s arm had circled his waist and had pulled him close…there was no denying it, that kiss would have led to a lot more if Stan hadn’t left. He had felt his brother’s fire, and…and…

God, he wanted more! He had no idea that Ford had that kind of passion in him. The kiss hadn’t been that long, but Stan’s imagination was kicking into overdrive. What if they had opened their mouths, tongues swirling together, tasting one another? What if Ford had tangled his fingers in Stan's hair, pulling at it, and started kissing his neck?

_Argh NO!_ Stan thought angrily, and turned the water back on, trying to splash some sense into himself. These thoughts were wrong, disgusting, and oh god did he have an erection?

Stan closed and locked the bathroom door, and then sat on the toilet. He could wait for the erection to go away on its own, or he could make it go away. Stan squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. Jacking off to his own brother? Really? But as soon as the thought crossed his mind another one intruded. Did Ford masturbate to him? And if he did how many times had his brother came with Stan's face in his mind? Fuck, he was getting stiffer. What was wrong with him?

He leaned over and buried his face in his hands. Stan thought back to when he'd asked Ford if he wanted to fuck him. That look his brother had given him! Shame, fear, and humiliation all rolled into one facial expression. And while he had been shocked, he hadn't been displeased. Which was why he had to leave, had to get away, had to not be anywhere near his brother. One more second and he would've... _they_ would've...oh god.

Stan looked down at his pants and sighed. Tent city all the way. He could not go back to his room with a massive erection, that would send the wrong message. Or at least a message that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with.

Closing his eyes he undid the button to his fly. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck was he doing? But it didn’t matter, he had to get rid of it and who knew how long it was going to last, especially since these brand new fantasies weren’t leaving his mind.

He pulled his pants and boxers down, spat in his hand, and began to work himself. Stan bit his lip as thoughts of Ford being the one touching him filled his mind. It was Ford rubbing his shaft, rubbing his thumb on the head of Stan’s cock. God, he wasn’t gonna last long at this rate, not with those eyes his brother was giving him. Stan had never fully appreciated how gorgeous his brother was not until…

Stan reached for the toilet paper and clenched his jaw as he came, came hard into the wad of paper. Immediate shame filled him, and he felt tears sting his at his eyes. This was not right…

But there were stories weren’t there? So many creation stories started with siblings, often twins, coupling and creating the world that way. Nobody said anything was wrong with that, so why…? Stan mentally rolled his eyes. Nobody said anything because they weren’t real. They were myths, fake. This was real life, not a story. If anyone found out, he was screwed. Especially if his parents were to discover this. Disowned for sure. Maybe worse.

He and Ford needed to talk. 

Stan walked back to the bedroom, thoughts racing through his head. What was going to happen when they talked it over? Would they agree that this was absolutely not okay, or would they pick up where they had left off? But when he reached the room, he found that the lights were off, and Ford was in his bed, comforter completely covering him.

“Hey Stanford? You awake?”

No response. Ford was either asleep or pretending to be. Stan sighed and decided to leave him be. This could wait until the morning.

* * *

When Ford awoke the next morning, he found, much to dismay, that Stan was awake, and in the bedroom. He was sitting on the rolling chair by their desk, and was doodling on the corner of a piece of paper. Stan looked up at the sound of sheets moving, and locked eyes with his brother. Ford was the first to look away.

“So how did you sleep?” Ford asked, conversationally, looking back at his brother. “Have any dreams?”

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Yeah I did. It was about this huge ass elephant just standing in our bedroom. Wanna talk about it?”

Ford laughed lightly, turned pink, and pulled his covers up to his chin. A childish move, but it comforted him.

“I’m sorry,” Ford mumbled, looking up at the ceiling.“I shouldn’t have…The position I’ve put you in…” _I can think of a lot of positions to put you in,_ Ford suddenly thought, and he immediately turned bright red. Why the hell had that popped into his mind?

If Stan had any questions about his sudden violent blushing, he didn’t voice them. He simply shrugged and said,“Ain’t no sorry, bro. It is what it is. I just…can I ask you some things?”

Oh god. “Yeah, go for it,” Ford said, instantly regretting his words. But he couldn’t take them back, he couldn’t shove them back in his mouth. He’d opened the door for Stan to ask anything he wanted.

“How long?” Stan asked.

Ford blinked. “How long what?”

“How long have you wanted to do...what you did last night?”

Ford felt the entirety of his face turn tomato red. He was positive that the blush had even extended to the roots of his hair, and his ears felt like they were on fire.

“Eleven.” Ford said quickly, and Stan looked confused.

“Eleven?”

“Since we were eleven! I've wanted to kiss you since we were eleven years old!” Ford said, squeezing his eyes shut. When he finally opened them, he saw that Stan was contemplating a spot on the floor.

“Ok,” Stan finally said. “So this isn't new.”

“No,” Ford said in a whisper. “No, it's not.”

“You're a smart guy Ford, you know this shit's illegal.”

“Not here.”

Stan's head snapped up. “What do you mean not here? I'm pretty sure that in the US, incest is--”

"It's a state by state thing,” Ford said, the words tumbling over each other. “In New Jersey, as long as both people are eighteen or older, it's legal, it's completely legal.”

There was a long silence. “How long have you known that?” Stan asked, voice devoid of emotion.

“Does it matter?” Ford asked, lowering the bedsheets.

“Yes!” Stan said, emotion returning to his voice. “You obviously looked it up! Instead of just assuming that the law was against it, you checked!”

“Yes I checked!” Ford said, gripping his bedsheets tightly. “I wanted to know for sure, because I wanted to have--”

“Evidence.” Stan finished. “You wanted to have something to bring to me, something to convince me.”

“Yeah,” Ford said softly.

“Look, last night, I did a lot of thinking,” Stan said slowly, spinning in his chair, “And I've decided. I'm okay with...everything.”

“Are you saying that–?” Ford asked, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing.

“What I’m saying,” Stan cut across him, “Is that I accept that you like me but I don’t think I can…man, why does this gotta be so hard?” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head.

“You don’t return the feelings,” Ford said, his hopes completely shattered.

“Ford, I gotta be straight with you, I have no idea what my feelings are. I don't know if I'm mad, sad, flattered, or something else. This whole situation is just so--”

“Fucked up?” Ford finished, a grin tugging at a corner of his mouth. Stan looked up, surprised.

“You think it’s fucked up?”

“Stan I’m not an idiot, I know how the world sees this kind of thing,” Ford said. “I know I’m not supposed to feel the way I feel, do the things I–-I mean. Oh god.” Ford said, and covered his face with his hands. Feel the way I feel, do the things I…Stan’s not an idiot either, he knows how that sentence was going to end and knows what it means.

Sure enough, Stan had turned a deep shade of red. This was not surprising, anyone would feel uncomfortable at that sort of proclamation.

“So you um. You've mas—er, done things? To uh. To me?”

Ford turned so that all Stan could see was his back. There was no way he could answer that question facing him.

“Do I have to answer?”

“So that's a yes.”

“Look, can we not talk about what we do in our, uh, personal time? I know my feelings are unnatural, but you wouldn't ask–”

“What do you mean, ‘unnatural?’” Stan burst out, stunning Ford into silence. “You can’t help who you get feelings for! Maybe it’s unaccepted, and who knows? Maybe rightly so! But having feelings for a person isn’t unnatural.”

“You really are okay with this.” Ford said, slowly turning back around. 

“Don’t read into it,” Stan said, pointing a warning finger. “Look, no matter what, you’re my brother and my best friend. World tries to…to pit anything against you, you’re gonna win every damn time. Don’t care what it is. We’ll figure it out. We’ll make it through.”

Ford felt himself tearing up.“Promise?”

“Promise.”


	2. Chapter 2

Ever since Stan and Ford had had their conversation, things had been...different. The first sign of change had been Stan taking clean clothes to the bathroom when he showered so that he would not have to change in the bedroom. The second thing was that they were no longer physically affectionate with each other. The twins had always been very touchy-feely. Stan was constantly hugging his brother, leaning his head on his shoulder, holding his hand, even spooning him in the winter months. But now there was nothing. _Nothing._ Ford supposed that Stan was doing this for his benefit, worried that touching him was now considered off limits. But Ford deeply missed his brother's touch, and not just because he liked him. It had been apart of their special bond as twins, and had been Stan's way of showing his brother how much he cared for him.

Their relationship suddenly felt more formal. Stan would speak as politely as he could with Ford, clearly watching what he was saying. He had a very flirtatious personality, and it was obvious that he trying to make sure that he wasn't accidentally flirting with Ford. 

Everything felt wrong, and Ford wished he could just take that kiss back. He had never meant to tell his brother his feelings. Yes he'd looked up the laws on incest, but that was just to put his mind at ease. Sure he fantasized about telling his brother that it was completely okay, but he never thought for one second that they would actually have that conversation.

And then there was that word. The big 'I' word. Incest. It felt so dirty, repulsive, and not at all like what he was feeling. The stigma that came with it...the idea that only white trash with low intelligence partook in it...it made him feel simply awful. He wasn't an idiot, and he and his family were not white trash. He wondered if anyone had considered that a seemingly normal person from a seemingly normal family could want to kiss their own brother. Probably not.

But there was one thing that kept nagging at Ford. Stan had said he didn't return the feelings, (or at least that he didn't know how to feel) but he had kissed him back. _He had kissed him back._ For a second there, the pressure had been returned, and maybe he'd been imagining it, but he thought he had heard some sort of rumbling sound in his brother's throat. Could it be that his brother was lying? No, that was too much to hope for, and bringing that up with Stan would be ridiculous. How would he even go about it? 'Hi Stan, I think you were lying about liking me.' Yeah, that would go great.

So Ford just let it be, and drowned himself in his studies. He'd been accepted into West Coast Tech, (with a full ride scholarship!) but he still needed to finish out the school year. Normally, he'd be encouraging Stan to do the same, to study hard for final exams. But attempting to speak to him left a lump in his throat because every time he tried, his brother would give him this...smile. This awful, awful smile, this horrible rictus. It reminded him of a smile you might give someone you had no idea how to act around, someone you didn't know. So instead he just let his brother do whatever he wanted without comment. 

Graduation came and went, and both Ma and Pa were pleased that Stanley had managed to scrape passing grades in all of his classes. Ford was excited that his twin would be able to walk, but Stanley was excited for the party that was coming next. The senior party.

Everyone except Ford was losing their minds over the party. He had never been one for parties. The school had ended up having to make the location a complete secret. Apparently there had been issues with students telling people ahead of time where the party was going to be, and having drugs and alcohol snuck in behind the chaperones backs. 

“How are you not excited?” Stan asked Ford, clambering into the bus with the rest of the senior class. “This is going to be amazing! There's a fucking hot tub, and a masseuse! A masseuse Ford!”

“Do you even know what that is?” Ford asked, sliding into a seat next to Stan.

“Yes, I know what masseuse is. Person who gives massages. That's where I'll be the whole night, 'specially if it's a hot chick.”

“Mmm,” Ford said, looking away. He was imagining massaging Stan himself, feeling his brother's rippling muscles under his hands. Stan was no body builder, but the boxing classes he took had certainly toned him up, giving his body wonderful definition. Ford would slowly take his brother's shirt off, rubbing—no, _caressing_ him, and then he would gently kiss Stan's spine, starting at the top of his neck and slowly working his way down, sucking and biting, marking him. And then he would reach his hands forward to massage his twin's pecs, finding his nipples and rubbing them with his thumbs until Stan was moaning and twitching, and begging him to--

“Yo, Earth to Ford!” his twin said, waving a hand in front of Ford's face, snapping him out of his fantasy. “You even listening to me?”

“I, uh, um, I was just...lost in thought!”

“You always are,” Stan said rolling his eyes. “That big brain of yours, working overtime all the time. Take a break, won't you?”

“You know I can't,” Ford said, trying for a smile. 

“Well if you're not interested in me talking to you, tell me what you were thinking about!”

“I don't...you wouldn't...” Ford said, and to his horror, he felt heat rising to his face.

“What, I wouldn't understand?”

“Sure! I mean, yes!” Ford squeaked.

There was a silence before Stan dropped his voice, and said in a whisper, “You weren't thinking about...you know, me?”

“Stanley!” Ford hissed. “You can't mention that in public!”

“Well were you?”

Ford leaned his head back and looked at the roof of the bus. “Yes. My thoughts were about...they were about...” He couldn't say it, not when other people might hear.

“Maybe you could tell me exactly what you were thinking.”

Ford froze. No. No he could not do that. And anyway, why would Stan want to know what he had been fantasizing about? This was the first time in a while that Stan was really acting like himself, instead of treating Ford like a stranger. And while Ford had been yearning for his brother to return to his normal, blunt self, he didn't think Stan would ask about that sort of thing! Could it be that he had been right? That Stan actually had feelings for him? And that maybe, oh wow, maybe he was enjoying the idea that Ford was having dirty thoughts about him?

“Why?” Ford asked, his eyes glued to the roof. “Why the hell do you want to know?”

Stan did not immediately respond. “I dunno,” he said after a while. “It just...you know what, never mind, I don't fucking need to know, none of my business. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” Ford said. “I can understand curiosity. But you know...it killed the cat.”

“And satisfaction brought it back!” Stan said with a roguish grin. But the smile quickly vanished as Stan realized the potential implication of what he said, and he quickly turned his head away, staring out of the window.

They spent the rest of the bus ride in awkward silence, both embarrassed about the conversation that had just taken place. But when the bus finally pulled up to their destination, all of that seemed to fly out of their minds, and Stan pushed past his brother, desperate to join the festivities.

Ford found himself enjoying the party despite himself. There was good food, and so many crazy and fun things to do. There was a coffee bar, a spray on tattoo artist, and of course that masseuse Stan had been talking about. And the excitement and happiness that buzzed in the air seemed to fill Ford up like a balloon. 

Stan had long since disappeared, but Ford wanted to find him, to share with him the joy he was feeling. It took a while, but Ford did find him. And when he did, he felt like he'd been socked in the stomach.

His twin was sitting on a comfortable chair in an abandoned hallway, and on his lap sat a very pretty girl. She had her arms thrown around him, and oh no oh no, she was kissing his neck. Ford went rigid and all he could do was stare, as his brother responded. He stroked her thighs, reaching his hand farther up and she was moaning, enjoying it. And the eyes he was giving her...Ford had imagined that look on Stan's face so many times but it had always been directed at him. And against his will, a small wail escaped his lips.

Stan looked up, shock and surprise on his face. Ford turned on his heel and left, feeling like he was going to cry. What had he expected? That he would be the one on Stan's lap, being felt up tonight? Or maybe that Stan would stay away from potential lovers now that he knew Ford's feelings? Both of these were ridiculous thoughts. Stan had said he didn't like him, but he had so hoped...god he had wanted his theory to be right!

“Ford!”

Ford stopped, and turned. Behind him was a very red faced Stanley, who was doubled over, breathing heavy. It appeared as though he'd been chasing him.

“What?” Ford asked, and mentally swore at himself. His voice was wobbly and high pitched, not at all how he wanted it to come out.

“Are you...are you okay?”

“What do you think?” Ford asked, and felt tears leaking out of his eyes. 

Stan approached him, and pulled him into a bear hug. It was the first time he had touched Ford in weeks. “I'm sorry big bro,” he said quietly. “I didn't think you would see that. Actually, I didn't think anyone would.”

“It shouldn't...it shouldn't've affected me like that,” Ford mumbled, burying his face into his brother's neck. 

“Nah,” Stan said, gently rubbing his brother's back. “If there was someone I liked and I saw them touching another person, it would make me feel pretty shitty.”

“Why did you come after me?” Ford asked, pulling away. “Why didn't you just keep going?”

“You're my brother!” Stan said, looking offended. “Look, I may have been super horny, but your feelings come first! Gotta make sure my best friend is doing okay. And also, you kinda ruined the mood,” he admitted. “She got embarrassed that someone had seen and didn't want to do it anymore.”

“What if she had wanted to continue?”

“I would've told her I'd be right back and to please not leave. I mean did you see her? What a fox!”

Ford gave him a watery smile. “Yeah, she was nice looking.” And then, his traitorous lips let slip the words “Are you still horny?”

Stan's eyes went wide as dinner plates, and he swallowed hard. “Um. I mean, yeah...did you uh, did you want...?”

Ford found his breath growing shallow. “Did I want what?” he asked, his heart beating a rapid tattoo against his chest.

“Did you want to help me get--”

But just then, a loud gaggle of girls burst into the hallway, and one of them waggled her fingers at Stan, who shot her the finger guns. The moment was lost, but Ford was sure that Stan had been about to ask if he wanted to help him get off.

* * * 

Unlike his brother, Stan had managed to stay up all night. Even though he spent the night partying hard with his friends, he couldn't keep his mind off of Ford. Once more, Stan had felt himself being drawn to his twin, desiring him. But instead of leaving so that he could clear his head and return to Earth, he had been about to suggest they have sex!

Sex with Ford...the idea should be sickening, yet he found that he wanted it. He wanted to do this awful thing. And hadn't Ford said that incest was legal for adults here in Jersey? All they'd be doing was breaking a social rule. So really, his feelings were okay. Right? 

When morning finally broke, Stan woke Ford up with a gentle shake. He had fallen asleep on one of the provided couches, and his glasses were at an awkward angle on his face. The word cute flashed across Stan's mind, and he found himself wanting to press his lips against his brother's closed lids.

“Time to wake up,” Stan said quietly.

“Huh?” Ford said, rolling onto his back, and opening his eyes blearily.

“Ma and Pa are gonna be here soon.”

“Oh,” Ford said, and pushed himself up into a seating position, adjusting his glasses. “What time is it?”

“6:30,” Stan said, looking down at his watch. “They're supposed to pick us up at 7:00. Did you sleep okay?”

Ford shrugged. “I guess. Did you sleep at all?”

“Nope!” Stan said, “Played some basketball in the pool, did some pretend gambling, and man I drank _so much coffee._ Still a little jittery.”

“What do you mean, pretend gambling?” Ford asked, patting the seat beside him. Stan sat down next to him and leaned back with a contented sigh.

“I mean I guess it was real gambling, just not with money. You know those coins we get at Hanukkah? We used those.”

“Did you ah...see that...that girl again?” Ford asked carefully. Stan shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Do you really want to know?”

“I can take it!” Ford said bravely.

“We made out.” She had managed to track him down, and it hadn't taken that much convincing on her part to get Stan to want to kiss her again. But the entire time, he'd been thinking about his brother. A hot girl had been grinding on him, and practically devouring his face, and all he could think about was what it would've been like if she had been Ford.

“Did you do anything else? With her?” Ford asked, staring at the ground.

“No, we got caught actually, and the friggin' chaperones spent the entire night hovering over us, making sure we didn't fuck or whatever.”

“Oh. I'm sorry,” Ford said, unsure how he was supposed to respond.

“No it's fine, I mean it's not like I was gonna nail her in public! Most I would've done is some over the pants action.”

“Are you going to see her again?”

“Ford,” Stan said in a surprisingly stern voice. “Why are you asking me questions that you don't actually want the answers to?”

“I dunno,” Ford said miserably. 

“Well, if it cheers you up, she and I agreed that it would be a one time thing.” Ford seemed to perk up at this, and Stan smiled. “Now come on, lets go get some grub!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Child abuse mention. Also if you're wondering why Stan's POV is not included, that is because the next chapter is all Stan. So it was only fair to make this one all Ford!

_Did you want to help me get--_

The words kept echoing in Ford's ears throughout breakfast, and well into the car ride home. They had been so close, so close to...well, to something. He couldn't be sure that his brother had been about to proposition him, but it definitely sounded as though he was about to. But there was no way they could've done anything, someone could've caught them! Ford could just imagine the scandal. Two brothers, twins, doing unspeakable things to each other! Their parents would've been informed for sure. However, something about that felt exciting, dangerous. And the thought of actually getting to touch his twin...well it could become a reality if he played his cards right. 

Ford kept peeking over at his brother as Stan talked to their parents about the party. All he could focus on was his brother's full, beautiful, rosy lips. Many men had these thin, slit like lips but no, not Stan. Their father had been a lady killer in his youth, and had given his boys his looks. Strong jaws, thick hair, full lips, and dark, sparkly eyes. Stan had received these gifts in full, and Ford thought he looked like a statue of a Greek god. They had both gotten their grandfather's large nose, but somehow it worked on Stan. Ford had always been jealous of this. His mother used to tell him “Oh Stanford, you'll grow into that nose of yours,” but he never felt like he had.

“Stanford, answer your mother!”

“What?” Ford asked, startled. His father had turned in his seat to face him, and Ford could tell he was glowering at him from behind his sunglasses.

“Filbrick, calm yourself,” his mother said, sounding exasperated. “I'm sure he's just tired. I asked you if you had a good time, sweetie.”

“Oh, yeah.” Ford said. “Yeah, it was great.”

“I'm glad,” she said, flicking the blinker on. “Your dad and I have something to tell you, baby.”

“What's up?” Ford asked, suddenly worried. Her tone of voice was sad, and sounded as if she was the bearer of bad news.

“We bought the plane tickets.”

Plane tickets? Oh. The plane tickets to California, to take him to school next month. What was wrong with that?

“That's great, Ma!” Ford said.

“But what we need to tell you is that we won't all be coming with you.”

Ford froze. The plan had been that the family would fly him out for move in day, and they would stay with him for a few days to help him get settled into the dorms. What did she mean they weren't all coming?

“The tickets are too expensive,” his father said gruffly. “There's no way we can all come with you. You Ma will fly over, stay with you for three days, and then you'll be on your own.” 

“I'm not going?” Stan said in a choked voice.

“No baby,” his mom said. “I'm sorry. The tickets...”

Ford glanced at his brother. Stan looked hurt and betrayed. Neither of them had been prepared for this bombshell. It would be hard enough being separated, but now it would happen ahead of schedule. 

The rest of the car ride was spent in stony silence. Stan looked like he was going to punch something, and Ford felt as though all the air had been pushed out of his lungs. When they finally pulled up to the house, Stan was the first out of the car, and received a shout of anger from their father when he slammed the car door shut. He was clearly very upset, more upset even than Ford. Stan stormed up to their bedroom, sounding like an elephant on the staircase.

“If you slam that goddamn door shut, I'll take your head and slam the door shut on _it!_ ” their father yelled up after him. This wasn't a threat—Filbrick didn't make threats. No, he made _promises._ Stan would get the shit kicked out of him if he slammed that door, and Ford held his breath, waiting to hear the thunderous noise the door was surely going to make. But the sound didn't come. Evidently Stan wasn't so emotional that he didn't care about punishment. Ford followed his brother up the stairs, wondering what he was going to find behind their bedroom door.

Stan was lying on his back on the bottom bunk, staring up at the mattress above. He didn't even glance at Ford as he entered the room and shut the door.

“Hey,” Ford said gently.

No response.

“Stan?”

Still no response.

“Stanley!” Ford said, annoyed. His brother never ignored him completely.

“What?” Stan said moodily.

“You're upset,” Ford said.

“Good job!” Stan said sarcastically. “Next you're going to tell me that I'm wearing a white shirt and that I don't like having my head slammed in doors!”

Ford walked over and joined Stan on the bunk. “He wouldn't've done that,” he said.

“You know that's not true,” Stan said, rolling his head to the side to look at Ford. “He would have.”

“Look, I know he's used belts on us and stuff, but I'm sure he'd just have knocked you around a bit, not actually--”

“Remember when I broke my fingers?” Stan interrupted. Ford paused. Yes, he did. They had been twelve years old. Ford and his mother had just come back from a chess tournament to find an ambulance in the driveway. Stan had got his fingers caught in the basement door and—no wait. He wasn't saying...he couldn't be!

“I mouthed off to Pa, he dragged me downstairs and slammed my fingers in the door.”

Ford stared at his brother. He remembered Stan holding a towel to his hand and crying. There had been blood...so much blood. The basement door was a metal fire door, and the EMTs said he was lucky the fingers hadn't been severed. Stan had to get stitches, and had scars to this day.

Stan raised the scarred hand in the air, and stared at his fingers, but didn't betray any emotion. “Dad said if I told anyone what happened, I'd be in for it. So don't tell him you know the truth, okay?”

Ford felt a lump rise in his throat, and he lay down next to Stan. Silently, he scooted close to his brother, and put his arms around him. Stan looked down and raised an eyebrow.

“You cryin'?”

Ford hadn't even noticed, but tears were staining his cheeks.

“Sixer, this happened a long time ago. I just told you because you seem to think Pa won't do exactly what he says he's gonna. 'Specially when it comes to me.”

“What's that mean?” Ford said, cuddling closer.

“I'm the fuck up in the family.”

“No,” Ford said softly. “No you aren't. Just 'cause school wasn't your thing doesn't make you a fuck up. You just have to keep moving forward.”

“Move forward?” Stan said with a derisive laugh. “Towards what? I can't move forward to future I can't see! It might not even be there. Might fuck up so bad that I get put six feet-”

“Don't say that!” Ford said angrily. “Don't ever say that! You have a future, you have a life!”

“Easy for the smart guy with a full ride to the best college in the country to say,” Stan said. He began to absentmindedly play with Ford's hair, getting a happy hum in response.

“You like that?” Stan asked, looking over at him. Ford nodded.

“Feels nice.”

“I'll keep it up.”

Ford nuzzled his nose into Stan's neck, and put a leg over him, hoping against hope that it would be okay. Stan didn't do anything about it, so Ford fully relaxed, closing his eyes and enjoying what was slowly turning into a scalp massage.

“I've never noticed how curly your hair is,” Stan said, but his tone of voice had changed. It was warmer, richer somehow.

“It's always been like this,” Ford said, drowsily.

“Yeah, but I've never put my hands in it before. I like it.”

“You do?” Ford asked, and when he opened his eyes to look up at Stan, his heart stopped. Ford was being given the look. The look that Stan had given that girl, the look that Ford had been dreaming about for years. That gentle smile, partially closed lids...he felt warmth rising to his cheeks.

“Want me to stop?” Stan asked, and the look was gone. Damn it why did he have to blush? Stan probably was worried that he was making him uncomfortable!

“No, please don't.”

Stan leaned forward and kissed his brother's forehead, and Ford felt like he'd just won the lottery. His twin's lips were soft and gentle, and it wasn't a peck, it was a full on kiss, and he felt a happy warm sensation filling his entire body and--

“Sorry!”

Ford blinked. He looked up at Stan and saw that his face was bright red. 

“I...we should stop. I didn't mean to make you...”

And then it dawned on him. He had popped a boner when Stan had kissed him.

“Oh my God!” Ford said, and sat up lightning quick, hands covering his growing erection. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for that to happen!” His face was glowing like a beacon and he was surprised that it hadn't burst into actual flames. 

“It's fine,” Stan said, a lopsided smile on his face. “Kinda flattered.”

“You're flattered?” Ford asked, confused.

Stan pushed himself up and nodded. “I mean I only kissed you on the forehead and BAM!”

“You were playing with my hair too,” Ford mumbled.

“That turns you on?”

“Can we not talk about this?” Ford asked, looking up at the mattress above them. 

“Alright, alright,” Stan said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I'll shut up. I just like teasing you, that's all.” There was a slight pause, and Stan cleared his throat.

“Does it bother you?”

“Does what bother me?” Ford asked.

“Me teasing you about this stuff. I can stop. I don't wanna make you feel bad or anything.”

“It's okay, I'm fine.” Ford said, and tried for a smile. “I mean it's embarrassing, but you know. It'd be weird if you weren't doing it.”

“What's that mean?” Stan said, laughing.

“It means you pull this shit with everyone! I'm glad you're treating me like a normal person and not like a freak!”

“You're not a freak.” Stan said.

“I have a thing for...for my own brother,” Ford said, sighing.

“Well yeah, just look at me!” Stan said, flexing. “I'm the most attractive person you've ever seen!”

Ford laughed despite himself. “I still can't believe you're okay with it.”

Stan shrugged. “Yeah, I'm kinda surprised too. I'm fine with it...and with what happened. 'Cept the part where you fucking shoved me into a wall, you little dickhead!” Stan said, and put Ford into a headlock, rubbing his knuckles on the top of his head.

“Let me go, you ass!” Ford said, a grin on his face.

“Gotta promise you won't do it again!”

“Okay okay! I promise! No more wall shoving! Now let go!”

Stan did as he was told, and pulled Ford into a one armed hug. “God I'm gonna miss you,” he said.

“I'm gonna miss you too,” Ford said, leaning into the hug. “I hate that you're not coming with me to California to help me settle in.”

“Yeah.” Stan said, sadness in his voice. “Nothing we can do about that though. Just gotta make this month the best one we've ever had."


	4. Chapter 4

Stan felt himself growing more and more comfortable with his feelings for Ford, and started loosening back up around him. Before he'd been tense, uncertain. Any sort of touch sent electric sparks through his body, so he avoided it as much as possible. But after that cuddle session, he found he craved having his hands on his brother. Even if it was just a hug, he wanted it, no he needed it. And he found himself really looking at his brother, as if he'd never seen him properly. Before, Stan saw Ford as just another person, but now he was seeing him as a man.

He'd had fantasies about men before, and even had gone down on a guy a few times. But that was a secret, something he hadn't even shared with Ford. It wasn't that he was ashamed of it, or that it had been a bad experience, Stan just felt like it was something he shouldn't talk about. Probably because of their father, always throwing slurs around, and talking about how 'the gays' were ruining the country.

The experience stood out clearly in his mind. Stan had skipped class to go down to the beach, and he had invited his friend Jack to come with him. Jack was heavy set and built like a tank, with a shock of red hair. He wasn't muscular, no, far from it, just big and stocky. And something about that was just so appealing to Stan, but he hadn't quite figured out what kind of appealing it was. Not until they drove down to the beach and decided to change into their suits in the car. It was like some sort of film the way it happened, it almost felt scripted. They began to change in the back seat, and then Jack was staring and Stan was blushing and even years later neither of them would know for certain who had started it or how, but their hands were on each other, and Jack was asking if he had any condoms. Stan remembered saying no but not caring and just putting Jack in his mouth like it was no big deal. He would never forget the salty sweet taste of the first dick he'd ever sucked, would never forget the sensation of cum shooting down his throat, and then onto his face as he choked and pulled up too soon. That had been their first time, but hadn't been their last. They only stopped because Jack had found someone he wanted to go exclusive with, and Stan did not fit in that equation.

And now, now Stan was taking his experiences with Jack, and replacing him with Ford. Would his brother taste like Jack had, or would it be different? How would Ford touch him, what kind of noises would he make? These were all questions he contemplated every time he looked over at his brother, and he realized fairly quickly that if he didn't hurry up, he was never going to know.

The month was passing by much faster than Stan had anticipated and before he knew it they were going shopping to get all the things Ford was going to need for school. Ma was going to buy him items like lamps and a microwave when they got to California, along with his books. But while they were here they bought things like toiletries, paper and pens, and extra clothing. 

And suddenly they were buying boxes to pack Ford's stuff in, and half of their room was in said boxes, and Stan just sat on the bed, growing more and more panicked with each passing day. It was becoming real now, the fact that for the first time in their lives, he and Ford would not be together. Ford was going somewhere that Stan could not follow, and that hurt. He had always thought they would be together forever, but now? Now it was becoming real that they wouldn't be. 

Ford seemed to be panicking as well, but for different reasons.

“What if I'm not smart enough?” he asked Stan one day, pacing the floor to their bedroom.

“They wouldn't've let you in to the damn school if they thought you weren't smart enough,” Stan said, taping one of Ford's boxes shut.

“But...but what if everyone else is--”

“Sixer, there's obviously gonna be someone better than you!” Stan said.

“Oh thanks,” Ford said, stopping in his tracks and glaring at him.

“Ford, there's always gonna be someone a step ahead,” Stan said, exasperated, setting his roll of tape down on their desk, “But you can't let that drag you down! I bet there was someone smarter than Tesla, but did he stop working on his inventions? Did he just roll over and die? No! So you're not gonna either!”

“But what if everyone is better?” Ford asked, and resumed his pacing. “What if I'm the dumbest guy there?”

“Then you can call me up and I'll tell you how I dealt with being the dumbest guy in school.” Stan said walking over to his brother and giving him a gentle punch in the arm.

“You weren't the dumbest guy in school, you passed all your classes,” Ford said.

“Hey, D's get degrees, I wasn't that worried,” Stan said, shrugging. “Just do your best and it'll be okay.” 

But Stan's words didn't seem to have any affect on Ford. Their parents also tried to console him, but nothing seemed to help. Not even the fact that he got such high scores on his placement tests that he was put in classes that seniors should be taking, not freshmen.

The night before Ford's flight finally came, and Stan was positive that his brother was going to break down and have a panic attack. Ford had gone to bed without eating dinner, and when Stan finally went upstairs to go to sleep, he found that his brother was crying in the top bunk.

“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa!” Stan said, closing and locking the door for privacy, “What's going on?”

“Nothing,” Ford said in quavering voice, wiping tears from his cheeks. 

“Yeah that doesn't look like nothing,” Stan said, crossing the room and climbing up the ladder to sit with Ford in his bed. “Looks like a whole lot of something.” 

“I just...I'm gonna be so far away from all of you,” Ford said, as Stan put an arm around his shoulders. “Who knows when I'll see you guys again?”

Stan felt a pang of sorrow hit him at these words. Surely Ford would come for the holidays? But their father might deem the plane tickets too expensive, and not let him. What if Ford never came back?

“So it's not just the smarts thing that's getting you down then, eh?” Stan said, squeezing his brother's shoulders.

“No,” Ford said. “I'm gonna miss Ma, and Pa, and...and...”

“And me?”

“And you.”

“I'm gonna really miss you too,” Stan said softly, and leaned his head on Ford's. 

“Can we sleep in the same bed tonight?” Ford asked quietly. “Like when we were younger?”

“Sure,” Stan said, and suddenly realized his heart was racing so fast that it was physically uncomfortable. He wondered if Ford could hear it.

The twins got under the blankets, and Stan pulled Ford close so that they were flush against each other. Stan buried his face in his brother's hair and breathed in. 

“You smell like a daffodil,” Stan muttered.

“I used Ma's shampoo on accident,” Ford said.

“I wish you'd've done that before, I like it a lot. I just wanna smell you forever.”

Wait.

_What?_

Had he really just said that?

“Um, okay.” Ford said with an awkward laugh, “Well, I'm glad you...you...Stan?”

Stan had just buried his face in his brother's neck and had slipped his arms under Ford's, wrapping them around his chest.

“What's up big bro?” Stan breathed into his twin's ear, getting a small shudder in response.

“What...what are you doing?” Ford said, his breathing getting a bit shallow.

“I'm holding you,” Stan whispered. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah that's fine.” Ford said.

“What about this?” Stan said, and with a burst of confidence, he gave his brother's neck a kiss. 

At first there was no response, and Stan was terrified he'd crossed a boundary. What if that wasn't what Ford wanted at all? It was entirely possible that Ford was working to get over Stan, making this completely inappropriate and unwanted.

“C-could you do that again?” Ford breathed after a few tense seconds.

Stan smiled, and leaned forward again, brushing his lips gently against Ford's neck, but this time, he kept going, showering the side of his sibling's neck in gentle kisses. His brother was making tiny little whining noises, and was squirming around, so Stan squeezed him tighter, holding him still.

“S-stop!” Ford said suddenly, and Stan immediately stopped, concerned.

“What's wrong?”

Ford turned around, and Stan noticed that he was making sure that there was a bit of space between them.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, looking up at Stan with wide eyes.

“Because this is your last night here and it's my last chance.” Stan said.

“Your last chance?” Ford asked, his brows furrowing.

“Yeah,” Stan said, and pulled Ford towards him by the hips. “My last chance to show you how much you mean to me.” And with that, he pressed his lips against Ford's.

He heard a tiny moan escape his brother, and the pressure was returned. Stan could feel his twin's erection up against him, and he was positive that Ford could feel his. They gave each other the smallest of kisses at first, both a bit shy. Slowly, Stan began to work Ford's mouth open with his own, and slipped his tongue inside his mouth, lightly touching Ford's tongue with his. 

A loud rumbling groan sounded from inside Ford's throat, and their tongues intertwined, sliding in and out of each other's mouths, the kissing growing faster, sloppier, desperate. Stan's arms were around Ford's waist, and Ford had tangled his fingers in Stan's hair and was gently tugging at it. He had to fight hard not to call out in pleasure. 

“I want you,” Stan growled, and rolled Ford onto his back, but right as he started to straddle him, the bed gave a loud creak, and gently hit the wall. The two stopped, and locked eyes.

“This isn't gonna work, is it?” Ford asked. “Ma and Pa will hear the bed.”

“Not if we get on the floor,” Stan said. 

“The floor?” Ford asked, sounding scandalized, looking up at Stan as if he'd sprouted another head. “But that will be so uncomfortable!”

Stan rolled his eyes, pulled the pillow out from under Ford's head and threw it on the ground.

“Not if we put our pillows and blankets and stuff down there.”

They stripped their beds and made a pile on the floor, but as they did so, Stan was becoming more and more unsure. Okay, fine, he'd gotten used to the idea that he liked his brother more than normal, but now he was actually acting on it. He was actually going to fuck his twin. 

“Hey are you okay? We don't have to do this.”

Stan looked down and saw Ford sitting on the pile they had made, looking up at him with those giant brown doe eyes, a look of concern on his face, and an overall air of pure innocence. Something in Stan's brain seemed to have short circuited, and all previous concern flew out of his mind.

“God, you're cute,” Stan said without really thinking. Ford turned pink.

“Does that mean you still want to...?”

“Oh fuck yes!” Stan said, and joined him on the pile of blankets. He pushed Ford roughly onto his back and kissed him deeply, a hand tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Fuck yes.”

None too gently, Stan pulled Ford's shirt off, and began to kiss his neck again, moving slowly down, kissing and sucking at his collarbone. And oh the sounds! The sounds Ford was making! Whines and gasps, and he was writhing underneath him, hands clawing at his back. Stan felt his twin's nails scrape him, and he knew he was going to have marks in the morning, but he found that he didn't particularly care. All he cared about was making his brother happy, making his brother forget about that dumb school.

Ford was growing louder by the second, and while this pleased Stan, he knew that it was going to quickly become a problem. “You gotta be quiet sixer, okay? Your noises are fucking hot but you gotta be quiet,” Stan said. Ford nodded his head mutely, his breathing heavy.

“Are you sensitive?” Stan asked, and rubbed a thumb over one of his brother's nipples. Ford's eyes rolled back, and Stan grinned. He leaned down and flicked it with his tongue, and his brother jerked underneath him. Stan began to gently suck on it, and rubbed the other nipple with his thumb and forefinger.

“Stuh-stuh-stanley!” Ford moaned, threading his fingers in his twin's hair and pulling. This time Stan couldn't contain himself and let out a loud moan.

“Thought you said to be quiet,” Ford teased.

“Oh _fuck you_ Poindexter!” Stan said, grinning broadly.

“That's the idea,” Ford said, his voice taking on a tone that Stan wasn't even aware that his brother could make. It was a deep bass, layered with honey, and paired with his partially closed eyes and that lopsided smile he was giving...God, it was almost too much.

“H-how do you want it?” Stan asked, leaning forwards to kiss Ford again. “How do you want me t-to fuck you?”

Oh wow, he'd actually said it. Their actions were obviously leading up to this point, and Ford had more than implied that this was what wanted but now...now he'd said it, now he'd asked, now it was actually going to happen. And Stan found that he had no idea what he was supposed to do. It wasn't as though he didn't know how to please a man, no, it was just that he didn't know how to start it off. This wasn't like with Jack, not at all. The two of them always just went at it, no foreplay, no nothing. They'd get in the car, and one would be on the other's dick in three seconds flat.

But with Ford, Stan wanted to take it slow, wanted to know exactly how he wanted to be pleasured instead of just doing the first thing that came to mind. 

“Um...” Ford said, heat rising to his face. “I...dunno.”

“What—you don't have any ideas?” Stan said, and licked a small patch on Ford's neck. “Come on, what's the dirtiest thing you've imagined us doing together?”

If Stan had thought Ford was red before, it was nothing compared to what he was now. His entire face was fire engine red, and it even extended to his chest, leaving his milky white skin blotchy.

“I-I-I dunno...”

“Yeah you do, tell me...I wanna know. When you jack off in the shower, what do you think about?”

Ford covered his eyes with an arm. “I...I've thought of you...um, grinding on me and...going down on me before.”

“Grinding on you, eh?” Stan said, lowering himself down onto his twin. “Like this?” 

Stan began to slowly move his hips in a thrusting motion, kissing Ford again, and he could feel his brother whimpering and moaning into his mouth as he moved faster, the friction causing heat between them as he pushed downwards. And Stan couldn't help but want flesh on flesh, couldn't help but desire their bare cocks rubbing together. Then he realized it's not just a desire it's a need, he needs this, needs this more than anything.

“Why'd you stop?” Ford asked, sounding slightly annoyed as Stan sat up, but the frown on his face quickly vanished as Stan pulled down Ford's boxer shorts. His dick was even better than Stan could've hoped for. It was longer than his own, but had a nice rosy tone to it, and pre-cum was bubbling at the top. Ford raised his hands to undo Stan's fly but he batted him away. His original plans had gone out the window, his real need was to taste Ford.

“Not yet,” Stan said. “I believe you mentioned a blowjob.”

“A whaAUUAH!” A shout ripped through the night air as Stan took his brother's entire length into his throat, but came up fast, a dangerous look in his eyes.

“You gotta be quiet, you can't fucking scream like that!” Stan hissed. “You could wake up our parents! Shove your knuckles in your mouth or something!”

Ford did as he was told, and Stan bobbed his head up and down, swirling his tongue on the head of his brother's cock as he came up, licking up his brother's wetness. He grabbed his Ford's free hand and placed it on his head.

“Show me how you want it,” Stan said, and Ford got the picture, gripping his hair and moving Stan's head up and down, and soon, bucking his hips into his mouth, fucking Stan's face. It didn't take long before Ford came, a stifled shout sounding from around the hand that he was biting on. Stan sucked hard on Ford's cock as he pulled up, extending the orgasm as much as he could, swallowing every drop of cum shot into his mouth, and lapping up the rest that dripped down from Ford's dick.

“You still...you haven't cum yet,” Ford said, leaning his head back, clearly exhausted.

“Yeah I know, it's okay,” Stan said, lying down next to his brother.

“No,” Ford said, “You should...you should too.”

“Do you want to do it?” Stan asked. As way of answer, Ford reached over and began unbuttoning his fly. Stan felt a thrill of excitement, and helped pull down his pants and then his boxers. 

“What do I do?” Ford asked, clearly nervous. Stan chuckled and sat up. 

“You know what to do,” Stan said, and stood up. He walked over to his dresser, pulled out a bottle of lube, and tossed it to his brother. “If you can jack yourself off, you can jack me off.” He sat back down, and his brother shyly approached him, opening up the bottle and squirting a bit into his hands, rubbing them together. Ford gently began to work Stan's cock, and he couldn't help but let out a moan. Stan felt himself thanking the lord above for giving his brother six fingers because man that extra bit of hand was doing wonders for him. Ford began to move a little faster, twisting his hand and squeezing.

“Is this okay?” Ford kept asking and eventually Stan burst out with a “If you have to talk, can it at least be something sexy?” Ford made a valiant effort at following Stan's wishes, but Stan ended up locking lips with him to make him shut up.

“Tissues,” Stan said after a while, breathing heavily, eyes rolling back into his head.

“What?” Ford asked, confused.

“Ford, I'm gonna cum, grab some tissues or--” but Stan's sentence was cut off as Ford bravely put his mouth over the head of Stan's cock. He made a spluttering sound, and squeezed his eyes shut, eliciting a laugh from Stan.

“That wasn't flavored lube bud,” Stan said. 

It didn't take much longer before fireworks exploded in front of Stan's eyes, and he could vaguely hear a choking sound, and when he came down from his high, he saw Ford sitting up right, swallowing hard, a disgusted look on his face.

“Don't like it?” Stan asked, flopping down on the pillows.

“It tastes weird.” Ford said, grimacing. “Combined with the lube it wasn't that great.”

“What were you expecting, Baskin Robbins?” Stan said, raising an eyebrow. “Now get over here!”

Ford snuggled up close to Stan and breathed out heavily, followed by a happy hum. “I never thought this would happen,” he said drowsily.

“Dreams really do come true,” Stan teased.

After a few moments, Stan realized that they should probably make their beds. He voiced this to Ford, and the two began to put the sheets back on their beds as quietly as possible.

“You know that belt I have?” Stan said, climbing up the ladder to the top bunk, “the one mom hates?”

“What, the 'Badass Motherfucker' one?” Ford replied, lifting the blanket so Stan could crawl in next to him.

“Yeah,” Stan said. “I'm thinking about taking it into a leather worker and changing the 'm' to a 'b-r' so it says 'Badass Brother--”

“Oh my god _no!_ ” Ford said, shoving his brother and laughing. “You are not allowed to do that under any circumstances!”

“Well that's what I am,” Stan said, nuzzling his brother. “A badass brotherfucker. You are too. Minus the badass.”

“Oh whatever.”

“Hey Ford?” Stan asked after awhile. “You awake?”

“Yes,” Ford said.

“You gonna remember me?”

Ford shifted and turned to face Stan, a puzzled look on his face. “Am I gonna remember you?”

“Yeah,” Stan said, averting his gaze. “You won't forget me when you see all those hot frat guys, or maybe some super cute nerd or whatever.”

“Oh, Stan!” Ford said, and pulled him close. “I'll always remember you. Look, I'll promise you right now, you and me forever. Only you and me.”

“Only us?” Stan said, and kissed Ford on the top of the head. “You promise? For real?”

“Yes,” Ford said. “Nobody else.”

Ford fell asleep first, and Stan held him close, wishing that he had realized his feelings months, or even years before. This might be the only time they ever got to do anything like this. But the promise they had made gave Stan new strength, and he drifted off, the happiest he had been in a long time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Domestic violence and drug abuse
> 
> This chapter was very hard for me to write because the part about drug abuse was pulled from a real life experience. I lost my father to same drug mentioned. Please please PLEASE remember your family and the people who love you before doing such things. Watching what happened to my father and family is the most horrific thing that has ever happened to me.
> 
> I also need you to know that Stan's POV does get very dark. Ford's does not, but if you were looking for something light hearted this story is not it. Just warning you now.

The twins woke up the next morning tangled in each other's arms, warm and happy. They shared a couple of gentle kisses, and Ford gave a happy hum. He couldn't believe that this was actually happening. For seven years he'd been dreaming of this moment, and now it was here, now his brother was kissing him, wanting him. And last night had been...wow. Only in his wildest dreams had he thought that his brother would go down on him. Ford had the sneaking suspicion that Stan had done this before, but since his twin hadn't said anything, he decided not to press it. And oddly, he didn't feel hurt that Stan hadn't told him. He felt pleased, grateful even, that his brother knew how to pleasure a man.

However this happiness was broken by a pang of sadness. Had he just had a one night stand with his brother? God he hoped not, but they were going to be on opposite coasts for who knew how long. And there was no way his father was going to provide the money for Stan to come and visit. As for him, he'd be lucky if his parents let him come home for the holidays. Filbrick Pines was not known for his kindness or for his willingness to part with money. Ford knew that if he hadn't gotten that full ride scholarship, he would not be going to West Coast Tech. He supposed that maybe they could try for a long distance relationship. After all, he had promised to stay faithful to Stan.

“Ready to get up?” Stan asked, giving his brother another kiss.

“No,” Ford said truthfully. “I don't want to leave.”

Stan laughed. “Really? It wasn't that long ago that you were talking about how this was your dream, and how excited you were.”

“When I say I don't want to leave,” Ford said, sitting up, “I guess I really mean that, well, I mean...I'm leaving my entire life behind. And I don't want to have to do that.”

“Yeah, you're off to make a new life,” Stan said quietly. “Am I still gonna be apart of it?”

Ford gently pet his brother's hair, and smiled down at him. “Of course you will be. I'll write, I'll call, I'll make sure we're connected. I meant it when I said you and me forever.”

Stan smiled at this, and sat up as well. “I guess we better get dressed and ready,” he said. “Oh and unlock the door. Pa will be pissed if he tries to open it and it's locked.”

Their father did not appreciate locked doors. Ford had been baffled that he even let them have one with a lock if he was just going to scream at them for using it. Stan had figured that he just didn't want to spend money on a new knob.

Ford got down from his bunk, crossed the room, and twisted the door knob, unlocking the door with a small pop. 

“I'm gonna go take a shower, okay?” Ford said, and Stan gave him a small salute.

The whole family was trying to get ready as fast as possible to take Ford to the airport. Everyone was rushing around the house, trying to make sure that they weren't leaving something important behind. Stan and his father carried the heaviest boxes out to the car, while Ford and his mother went over the check list they had made.

“Are you sure you have everything?” his mother asked for the thousandth time, folding up the list and putting it in her purse.

“Yes Ma, I promise!” Ford said, exasperated. 

“Well, alright, but don't be afraid to contact us if there's something you need!”

Ford smiled at his mother, and wrapped his arms around her and leaning his head on her shoulder. “I love you Ma,” he said.

“Oh, baby, I love you too,” she said, returning the hug and patting him on the back. “I'm just worried. I want you to have the best time you possibly can!”

“I will, it'll be great.”

When the car was finally packed, Stan and Ford slid into the back seat, their father getting behind the wheel. Their mother slid into the passenger seat, and clapped her hands together.

“Alright, I think it's time to head out!”

At her words, Ford felt like every nerve of his had been electrified. He was finally going. This was real, this was happening! He was going to college! And not just any college, the best one in the entire country. Everything was suddenly going right for him. His brother liked him back, he was going to go to a school that actually challenged him, he was going to meet all sorts of like minded people...Ford was on cloud nine. He lost himself in fantasies about his new courses, and what the teachers were going to be like.

Ford was interrupted from his reverie by a gentle touch on his hand. He looked down and saw that his brother had his hand on the car seat, and had stretched his pinkie so that it was touching Ford's. Stan was staring out the window, but Ford knew that he had done this on purpose. So he lifted his own pinkie and placed it on top of Stan's, watching his brother for a reaction. And to his pleasure, he saw the tiniest of smiles cross Stan's face.

He wanted so badly to take his brother's hand and snuggle against him, but that wasn't possible. Their parents would definitely know something was up if they started cuddling in the car.

It didn't take long to get to the airport, and their mother was scribbling something on a piece of paper. When they started getting close, she revealed what she had been doing.

“Now this is both the address of the hotel I'm staying in, and Ford's dorm, okay?” she said, handing one piece to her husband, and one piece to Stan. “I'm giving you each one in case the other loses it. You both better not lose them, I don't know what you'll do in an emergency.”

“We won't,” Stan said, pulling out his wallet and sticking the piece of paper in. Ford was glad she had done that. Now he would definitely be getting letters from Stanley, and that made his heart swell with happiness. Maybe his brother would send him the first letter! That would be nice. 

While they were driving, the family decided to do curbside check in. So instead of driving into the parking lot, they kept going, looking for their check in area.

“Ah, there it is,” their father said, and pulled right up. “Stanley, help me get the stuff out of the car.”

“Here, I'll get in line,” Ford's mother said, and Ford helped his brother and father begin to unload. He hadn't realized just how many boxes he had brought until he saw them stacked on the side of the road. Suddenly it seemed a bit excessive. 

“Hey, have a good time.”

Ford turned around and saw his brother giving him a sad smile. He couldn't help himself—Ford pulled his brother into a huge hug, and rested his head on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said. “And you better write to me, okay?”

“Only if you promise to write back,” Stan said, wrapping his arms around him.

Their hug was cut short as their dad separated them, telling them to stop being so emotional and act like men.

“Get in the car Stanley!” Filbrick barked at his son. “And don't get in the back, I'm not some kind of taxi driver.”

When Stan was safely in the car, Filbrick turned to Ford, and cleared his throat dramatically.

“Now you better get good grades and live up to the terms of your scholarship, you understand?”

“Of course Pa,” Ford said. It had been too much to hope that his father would simply wish him well.

“And send us your grades after each term, I wanna make sure you're not flunking and lying to us.” This hurt Ford's feelings. Why would he lie about his grades? He wasn't Stan. Guilt flooded through his body as he had that thought, but it was true. That was something Stan would do.

“Of course Pa.”

“Alright then. Have a good time.”

Ford sighed. No 'see you at thanksgiving' or anything like that. He had probably been right—he wouldn't be going home for the holidays.

“I will. Bye!”

Ford waved goodbye at his father as he hopped into the car, and then at his brother who shot him the finger guns. He kept waving as the car left, and drove out of sight. 

He felt his mother's hand on shoulder, and he looked around to see her smiling at him. 

“You're all checked in baby, they're just loading your stuff up. It's time to go to security.”

Ford felt his heart racing, and for the first time today, he was genuinely excited for the flight.

* * *

“Stanley, we need to talk.”

Stan glanced over at his father surprised, but concerned. The only time his father wanted to speak to him was when he had some sort of criticism or complaint. 

“What's up, Pa?” Stan asked.

“Now that your brother's gone, we need to talk about you, and what your future is going to be.”

Stan swallowed. He had known that this conversation was coming, but he had hoped that his mother would be present for it. She was always able to keep things under control, keep his father from doing things that he would later regret. 

“Okay,” Stan said, knowing that a response would be required, even if there wasn't anything to say. Too many times he'd been yelled at to “ANSWER ME!” when he was simply waiting for his father to continue speaking.

“If you wish to continue living with us, you're going to need to get a job,” Filbrick said, gently turning the steering wheel with one hand. “I expect you to pay rent now that you're an adult. Your Ma and I will give you one month to get a job. If you can't, you're out.”

Stan blinked at his father.

What?

“Um, just...just a month?” he said, turning to face his father.

“You may not have done well in school,” Filbrick said gruffly, “But you've got a strong back, and plenty of endurance. You can get a job in a factory or in construction in no amount of time.”

Stan turned his head forwards and stared out of the front windshield. Construction? A factory? Those were not things that he particularly wanted to do.

“Well? What've you got to say for yourself?”

“Oh, uh, I'll get right on it,” Stan said glumly.

“Too right you will,” Filbrick said. “Ain't gonna have any freeloaders in my house.”

The rest of the car ride was spent in silence. Stan couldn't believe how fast everything had gone to shit. Of course he was going to move out at some point, but being given a time limit before he was out on his ass? What on Earth was going to happen if nobody wanted him?

Stan did not voice these concerns to his father, and the next day, he went searching for a job. To his dismay, finding one was extremely hard. Everyone had either just finished hiring, or he wasn't qualified. Coming home was a disaster. Stan would get a hard strike across the face when he came back with bad news, and that was if he was lucky. He was told to expect this treatment until he managed to find a job.

“Maybe this will motivate you!” Filbrick yelled one night, picking him up by his shirt collar and slamming him into a wall. Stan's head hit the wall hard and he saw stars. Anger and sadness welled up inside him, and he looked forward to when his mother would finally come home. She would put a stop to this, she would make sure he didn't get hurt anymore.

He felt so alone, and abandoned. With Ford gone, the reasons to stay in this house were dwindling, but the only other option at this point was homelessness. Stan knew he'd have to put up with this if he wanted a roof over his head but there was a small part of him that screamed at him to stand up for himself. But Stan knew that if he tried, he would just get beat twice as hard. The scars on his hand were a harsh reminder of what happened when you talked back to Filbrick Pines.

And then it happened. 

The night his mother came home, the two men were busy straightening up the house, trying to make it look nice for her arrival. They would be picking her up in twenty minutes, but Stan just wasn't moving fast enough, wasn't cleaning well enough, wasn't doing anything right, and his father was yelling, and Stan found he was yelling back, and somehow a plate was in his father's hand and 

CRACK

Stan hit the ground hard, and bits of porcelain were stuck in his hair, and he could feel hot blood trickling down from the top of his head onto his face and his father his father just

Stood there.

Mouth open.

Eyes obviously open wide from behind his sunglasses.

“Stanley, I'm sorry,” Filbrick croaked, and reached out to his son, but Stan backed away as fast as he could, tears streaking his face. The pain was starting to set in, and this was it, this was the last straw. Time seemed to blur together—one second he was on the floor of the kitchen and the next second he was on the sidewalk, and somehow he found himself behind the wheel of his car. How had he grabbed his keys? Hadn't they been in his room? Stan couldn't remember being in his room. But here he was, behind the wheel of his car, driving. Just driving, no destination in mind. All he knew was that he was leaving, and that he was never coming back.

It wasn't long before Stan realized he was going to need to stop driving. He was getting light headed, and he didn't want to pass out while driving. Stan pulled over to the side of the road, and placed his head lightly on the steering wheel. He couldn't believe what had just happened to him. Had his dad really just hit him over the head with a plate?

Stan reached up and wiped away the trickle of blood on his face. He should probably go to a hospital and get checked out. But what would he say had happened? There was no way he was going to tell the truth, his father might flip out again, maybe even hurt his mother or Ford.

Ford.

Fuck, was he abandoning Ford by leaving?

“I can still write,” Stan mumbled to himself. He pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and opened it. Yep, the scrap of paper with Ford's new address was still there. He would just spend the night here in his car, and then the next day he'd send a letter telling Ford what had happened and then...

And then what?

What would that achieve? All it would do was freak his brother out. But maybe he could--

“Stan?”

Stan jolted upright, and looked over. Someone was knocking on his window, and that someone was...

What the hell?

It was Carla McCorkle, his ex-girlfriend. She was staring into his car, a look of terror on her face.

“Stan?” she said again, knocking harder.

“You're gonna break the damn glass if you keep doing that!” Stan said angrily, and rolled down his window. “The hell are you doing here?”

“You're parked in front of Thistle's house,” Carla said.

Thistle? Who was...? Oh. Oh. Thistle Downe, the man Carla had left him for. He had a house? Man he must be older than he had originally thought. Stan looked around him and realized he was in a residential area. Huh. 

“I saw your car and thought you were here to harass him,” she said, leaning into the car window. “But you didn't come out, so Thistle asked me to see why you were here. You didn't know he lived here, did you?”

“No, I just...I needed a place to park,” Stan mumbled. The pain was beginning to blind him slightly, and he just wanted Carla to shut up and leave him alone.

“Stan what happened?” Carla asked, concern in her voice. 

“None of your business.”

“You look like you need a hospital.”

Stan glared at her. He had never met a more interfering person in his life. 

“I'm fine,” he said flatly. “Just let me...”

“Pass out in your car? No. You're staying with us.” She reached her hand through the open window and unlocked the car door.

“I'm not--” Stan protested, but Carla had already opened the door, and was trying to drag him out of the car. Finally, he relented. Thistle was an asshole, but if he let him crash on the couch...well that would be better than the car.

Carla half carried him up the steps to the house, and opened the door.

“Did you find out what he...? Oh my god!”

A tall man with a mop of sandy blonde hair was standing before them, eyes wide with shock.

“What the hell happened?”

“I don't know. Can he stay here?”

There was a pause, and Thistle made a clucking sound with his tongue before sighing and saying “Only if he tells us what happened.”

“My pa hit me with a plate, so I left,” Stan grunted. Carla's hands flew to her mouth, and Stan swayed on the spot. Thistle rushed forwards and steadied him.

“Carla get some towels, and I'll get him some painkillers.” 

For some reason, Carla gave him a strange look, as if she hadn't heard him properly. But she left and soon arrived with an armful of towels, and began to sop up the blood on Stan's head. Thistle had made him sit down in the living room, and was looking at him curiously.

“Stanley Pines,” he said, shaking his head. “I never thought I'd see the day where I was helping you out.”

“Nobody's making you,” Stan said grumpily. Thistle chuckled. 

“You're right, nobody is. But I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I didn't. Now head wounds bleed like a motherfucker, so we'll be sopping up that blood for a little bit. I'm gonna get you something to help with the pain.”

Thistle disappeared, and Stan was left with alone with Carla, who was switching towels. He looked down and saw the first one was almost completely soaked through. Huh. It seemed like Thistle had been right.

“I can't believe it...” Carla said softly. Stan snorted.

“Really?” he said. “Come on, you know my dad.”

“Yeah but...that could've killed you!” Carla said, and to Stan's surprise, it sounded like she was about to start crying. 

“Pa never liked me anyway, probably would've just shrugged my death off.”

“I'm sure that's not--”

“Why does everyone,” Stan said heatedly, “Always say 'oh I'm sure your dad doesn't feel that way' or 'I'm sure your dad wouldn't do that' when I talk about shit he actually does? He tells me every day what a waste of space I am, and how he wishes he didn't have kids. Why the fuck would he care if I died?”

“He would go to jail.”

Stan laughed at this. “Yeah, you're right. Oh! And funeral costs! Can't forget that!”

“Still in pain?”

Thistle had walked into the room, and in his hand was a hypodermic needle full of...something.

“Yeah,” Stan said, eyeing the needle nervously. “What's that?”

“Your painkiller!” Thistle said brightly. “Look, I don't usually give shit away for free, but that's some heavy stuff you're dealing with. This'll help.”

“But what is it?” Stan asked, feeling Carla take the second towel away.

“Heroin,” Thistle said calmly, and Stan noticed he had a latex tourniquet in his other hand.

“ _Heroin?_ ” Stan said, aghast. “You want me to use _heroin?_ ”

“It's a really great painkiller,” Carla said from above him, applying pressure with a new towel, “And it'll make you feel really nice and happy.”

“Thought you might need something like that,” Thistle said, offering him the needle and tourniquet.

“I-I can't...it's too dangerous, right? Everyone says--”

“This is what I've got, and it's good shit. I still can't believe I'm giving it away for free,” Thistle said, sitting down next to him. “Either take it, or stay in pain all night.”

Stan gulped. He couldn't say yes to this...could he?

“Here, stick out your arm, we can play doctor and patient.”

“Thistle, are you sure he should use a hypo for his first time?”

“You worry too much Carla,” Thistle said, waving her down. “Do you want it or not?”

With a shaky breath, Stan closed his eyes and held out his arm. “Am I gonna like, pass out?”

“No,” Thistle said, and began to tie the strip of latex around Stan's arm. Gently, he began to probe at the inside of his elbow, looking for a vein. When he found what he was looking for, he looked up at Stan.

“Now do you want me to do it, or do you wanna?”

“Could you...?”

“No problem.”

Stan felt a burst of pain and discomfort as the needle went into his vein, filling it up. 

“Now it'll take a little, but don't you worry, the pain will go away soon enough.”

Stan nodded slowly, and looked down at his arm, and suddenly Ford's face filled his mind, and he felt a burst of shame. God what would his brother say?

No it's okay, he tried to tell himself. It's just this once.

Just this once.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Drug use
> 
> Please do not use Stan as a role model. This stuff is crazy dangerous and will screw you over for life if it doesn't kill you.

"We are now entering Pasadena!” the pilot announced cheerfully over the speakers. Ford's mother gently gave her son a shake.

“Time to wake up, we're here!” 

Ford slowly opened his eyes, and looked around blearily. It had been a five hour flight, and he had slept almost the entire time. Something about riding in cars, trains, or airplanes just made him fall asleep. 

He unbuckled himself and stood up slightly, watching as the other passengers began to exit the plane. When it was finally their turn, he and his mom got their carry on items from the overhead compartment and began to make their way off the plane. And in less than a minute, they emerged into the airport. Ford looked around, and found that he had a gigantic smile on his face that just wouldn't go away. They were here. They were finally here.

“Alright,” he heard his mother say from behind him, “Lets go get your stuff.” 

It didn't take long to get all of his boxes, and his mother somehow roped their taxi cab driver into helping them load the car up. 

“So where are you headed?” the driver asked once everything was in.

“West Coast Tech,” Ford said happily. 

“Ah, yeah I know where that is,” the driver said. “You excited for your term?”

“Yeah!” Ford said, closing his door. “I'm really looking forwards to it.”

Ford's mother gave the driver the precise address of the dorm, and Ford found that he just couldn't stop talking. He spent the car ride babbling about how he was nervous about his courses, and was his roommate going to be nice, and how this would be the first time away from home.

“And it's so weird, you know, because I have a twin and this will be the first time we've ever been separated!”

“Oh wow,” the driver said, feigning interest. “That's gotta be rough.”

“Yeah,” Ford said sadly. He wondered what Stan was doing now. Hopefully he and Pa were having a good time, but Ford was worried. With the new knowledge of how Stan's fingers had really been broken, he was concerned that something might happen without him there. Ma was usually good at diffusing situations, and Pa never did anything too bad to Ford.

But why?

What was so different about him that Pa left him alone? Could it really just be that Ford was smarter, had a better chance at becoming rich and famous? And Stan was...well Stan claimed he was the family disappointment. Could it be that Pa felt the same way?

The ride wasn't too long, and when they got there, Ford couldn't keep the smile off of his face. The dorm looked like a fancy apartment complex, made of brand new looking brick. It had a wonderful garden, and even a fountain out front of the main entrance. Plenty of people were making their way into the dorm, laden with boxes. There were a lot of older adults, clearly parents, who looked totally stressed out. Ford hoped his mother wouldn't join their ranks.

“We're here!” the cab driver said, and Ford and his Ma got out, and looked around. There was a station with a bunch of people wearing black t-shirts with “Residence Life” printed on them in big blue letters.

“I suppose we go talk to them?” Ford said nervously.

“Why don't you go do that, and I'll unload the car,” his mother said.

So Ford went up to the people, and shakily introduced himself. He couldn't believe how nervous he was! All he was doing was talking to someone, this wasn't rocket science. He'd be taking that class as an elective later.

The residence life people were very helpful, and after a few questions confirming who he was, he received the keys to his room. Wow. His very own set of keys! For his very own place! Well, sort of.

“Okay, let's do this!” Ford said, returning to his mother, and the two began to bring the boxes into the building. Thankfully there was an elevator. However, it was crowded, and they quickly realized there was no way they would be able to bring the boxes up in one shift.

“I guess you can stay down here, and I'll bring them up?” Ford said. His mother was hesitant, but agreed, after realizing that was going to be the only way to do it. 

When he finally got onto the elevator, he found it hot and cramped. Everyone was smashed up against each other, and Ford couldn't wait to get to his floor. Reaching the fifth floor, Ford managed to extract himself and his two boxes, and exhaled hard. Thank God he was out of there.

“Alright, room 503,” he muttered to himself. When he got to the door, he found it already open. Ah, his roommate must be in there.

“Hello?” Ford called, stepping into the room. Sitting on one of the beds was a man with shaggy, dirty blonde hair and a serene expression.

“Why hello there!” the man said. He had light southern accent, and something about him made Ford's heart skip a beat.

“H-hey!” Ford said, placing his boxes by the second bed. “I'm Stanford,”

“Stanford eh? That's funny, I'm Fiddleford. Both got a 'Ford' in our names!”

“Yeah, guess we do. I uh...I usually go by Ford, actually.”

Ford looked around the room and noticed that there was a lot of stuff on Fiddleford's side of the room. In fact, he had already hung up some posters, one of which had a large hand giving the peace sign on it.

“Got all your stuff here already?” Ford asked, trying to make conversation.

“Yep!” Fiddleford said happily. “I got all my stuff up. My folks have already left. Is that your stuff?” he asked, nodding towards Ford's boxes.

“Oh, no my Ma is downstairs, she's got the rest.”

“Need any help?” 

“Well I mean,” Ford said, scratching the back of his head, “Only if...only if you want to. You're not obligated or anything.”

“It's no problem at all.” Fiddleford said with a smile that gave Ford that funny feeling again. What the hell was wrong with him?

The two rode the elevator back down, and made small talk about what classes they were going to take, and where they were from. Ford discovered that Fiddleford was double majoring in mechanical engineering and biomolecular chemistry.

“That's an...interesting combination.” Ford said, cocking his head.

“They both interest me, so I thought, what the hay!” Fiddleford said, throwing his hands in the air. “What are you here for?”

“I'm also here for mechanical engineering,” Ford said.

“Well hey, we might have some of the same classes!”

Ford's mother almost fell over in delight when she learned that someone was going to help them with the boxes. The three of them together managed to bring everything up in just one last trip.

“Do you need any help unpacking?” Ford's mother asked, hovering over him slightly.

“No, I think I got it.”

“Well alright,” she said, and pulled him in for a hug. “I'm going to go get checked into my hotel, and I'll be back to take you to lunch, okay?”

“Okay, that sounds great Ma,” Ford said, and allowed her to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Your mom sure seems nice,” Fiddleford said, watching her go.

“Yeah, she's great,” Ford said, fully appreciating her for the first time. She always made sure her boys were safe, had a roof over their heads, and food on the table. And she was so kind to Stan. Always made sure he felt included, always made sure didn't feel like he a failure.

And that's when it hit him.

Those weird feelings he felt when looking at Fiddleford...

Oh no.

Ford swallowed hard, and began unpacking the first box. What would Stan say if he knew that Ford was attracted to his roommate? This was not possible, this was not happening. But Ford was an adult, a grown ass man. He could be attracted to someone and not do anything about it. Yeah. He'd just ignore these feelings and stay true to Stan. After all, this brief feeling of attraction was nothing compared to the deep love he felt for his brother. Everything was going to be just fine.

* * *

It was...nice.

Heroin, that is.

The feeling...the rush...it happened almost immediately. Fuck, how do you describe such an incredible sensation? Like an orgasm maybe? There was warmth in his chest and then in his limbs and he kind of felt heavy and his eyelids began to droop...the rush didn't last for long, but suddenly the horrors of the day were gone. And Thistle...man how had he ever thought anything was bad with Thistle? He was such a nice guy! He was beautiful, Carla was beautiful, this house was beautiful, and life was fantastic. Stan felt himself smiling a lot, and laughing easily. That night with Ford had been amazing, but man, tonight threatened to top it.

The pain in his head had had dissipated, and the bleeding had finally stopped. Carla was now able to get a better look at it, and it turned out the wound was very minor. Good. He wouldn't have to go to a hospital. That was the last thing he wanted, especially in his current state. Would they get him in trouble? Maybe. Stan wasn't really up for trusting anyone right now, except for Thistle and Carla.

Thistle had decided to join Stan, and had shot up as well. Carla waved down the invitation to get high with them, as she apparently had a job interview the next day.

“Sometimes they make you take a piss test, and I'm not even gonna let there be a chance that something shows up in my system,” she said, snuggling up on the love seat next to Thistle. “I need this job.”

“Ugh, jobs,” Stan said, rolling his eyes. “How'd you even find something? I've been searching around, and haven't seen a thing.”

“I feel you,” Carla said, giving him a sympathetic look. “I only have this interview because my dad pulled some strings at his office. It's a reception job.”

“Aw, lucky!” Stan said, laughing. “But I guess I can wait on the whole job thing. It was my dad who was riding my ass to get one. Not really feeling motivated now I'm out of the house.”

“So what's your plans now that you're out of that hell hole?” Thistle asked, putting his arm around Carla.

“Man I dunno,” Stan said, shaking his head. “Haven't had a lot of time to think about it. Just drive around 'till I run out of gas.”

Carla looked at him concerned, and then turned to Thistle. “Do you think David would--?”

“Now that's an idea,” Thistle said, rubbing his chin with a hand. “Hey Stan, I think I can help you.”

“Yeah?” Stan asked, leaning back on the couch for maximum comfort.

“I was gonna bus it up to New York City tomorrow to see my friend David. He's got his own coffee shop, and he just let go of someone. I know this because he's been complaining about it for a couple of days. I bet you could convince him to at least interview you.”

“Can you give me the address of the place?” Stan asked. “I can go whenever I guess.”

“Well,” Thistle said slowly, “I was thinking you'd go tomorrow, and you would drive me up. I hate the bus if I'm gonna be completely honest. I would pay you of course.”

“Wha—how much?” Stan asked, eyes wide.

“I'll pay you for gas, and I'll buy you some shit from David,” Thistle said with a smile. “He's not my usual dealer, but man, he's got the good shit, I'll tell you that much.”

“More heroin?” Stan asked, and realized that there was excitement in his voice. And why shouldn't there be? This was the best he'd ever felt in his entire life! It took this drug to make him realize how upset and depressed he'd been all along. How the world seemed gray and dull. But now, everything was great.

“If you want it,” Thistle said. “It's not that expensive.”

“Really?” Stan asked, furrowing his brow. “I always hear how crazy expensive it is, and people pour their money into it.”

“Well, I mean, you can,” Thistle said, shrugging. “Just depends on how much you're using. You haven't used before, you don't need a lot. It's only ten bucks, from David anyway.”

Only ten bucks? If he got a job...

But no.

Wait.

Hadn't he told himself that this would be a one time thing? He'd just be doing it for his head pain?

 _But who knows how long the pain is going to last,_ Stan argued to himself. He'd stop using the second the pain was gone. See? Simple, easy, no problem.

“Yeah okay, I'll take you.”

\--

The next morning, Stan woke up feeling like someone had just sliced his head open with an axe. It wasn't nearly as painful as it had been last night, but still. Hatred for his father bubbled up inside him, and he felt glad that he was about to put a lot of distance between them.

“Hey kiddo, how you feeling?”

Thistle had entered the living room with two mugs of steaming coffee. He handed one to Stan who accepted it gratefully.

“Hurts,” he said, taking a sip.

“Need a hit?”

“I'm gonna be driving,” Stan said, raising an eyebrow.

“You'll be fine, heroin doesn't affect you like alcohol or even weed,” Thistle said, sitting down next to him, and sipping his own coffee. “You're totally in control.”

“You're the expert,” Stan said with a shrug. 

“I should probably show you how to do it,” Thistle said. 

“I know how how to stick a needle in my--”

“No, I mean how to prepare it.”

So Thistle gave him a Heroin 101 lesson, and let Stan do it himself. This time, the sensation of the needle wasn't as bad. He noticed that he had a small mark from last night. Vaguely, Stan wondered how long it was going to stay there for.

And Thistle was right, he was in control. Hell, he felt even better than normal. All that depression and shit? Gone. Out the window. God, why didn't everyone use this? 

“Have a good time baby!” Carla called out as they left the house. “And good luck Stan!”

“Yeah, you too!” Stan called out to her, giving Carla a small wave.

They hopped in the car, and Stan started it up, revving the engine a little for fun.

“You sure I'm gonna be able to drive?” he asked Thistle, still a little concerned.

“Hey, if you start feeling tired, or like you can't drive properly, I can take over,” Thistle said reassuringly. “I'm not exactly looking to get into a car crash.”

The car ride was only a little over an hour, but the real issue came when they got into the city itself. Stan would've loved to look around him and take in the sights, but the traffic! It was insane. Stan laughed to himself as he imagined how his parents would be reacting. While it certainly wasn't fun being in this eternal traffic jam, Stan found that he was only mildly annoyed.

After what felt like about five years, they managed to find a parking space, causing Thistle to throw his arms in the air and yell “Glory Hallelujah we have been blessed by Lord God!” Apparently, this was quite a rare occurance.

Thistle insisted on paying for parking, and the two men walked the three blocks it took to get to David's coffee shop. While they were walking, Stan took in the sights. It was absolutely incredible, all these buildings and people, and street vendors. How had he never been here before? 

“And here we are! Alma Coffee.”

“Alma?” Stan asked, as they pushed the door open.

“He named it after his niece,” Thistle explained. When they walked in, they were immediately hit with the glorious smell of coffee and pastries. Behind the counter was a burly man with dark brown hair, and thick arms. Stan would've been attracted to him if it wasn't for Ford.

Ford.

He'd have to remember to send Ford a letter soon, make sure his brother was having a good time. And maybe, _maybe,_ tell him what had happened.

“Hey David!” Thistle called out, and the man looked up, with a smile on his face.

“Thistle! How are you?” he said, hopping over the counter and walking over. “Feels like it's been forever! And who's this?” he asked, looking at Stan with some interest.

“I'm Stan,” Stan said, putting out a hand. David took it, and gave it a shake.

“Nice to meet you Stan, I'm David.”

“Stan here is looking for work,” Thistle said casually. “And I thought, maybe you might want to consider him. He's a pretty cool dude.”

David chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before asking “You ever used an espresso machine?”

“No,” Stan said truthfully, “But I can learn how.”

“His dad beat the shit out of him, so he ran away. Poor guy's homeless.”

“Yeah, spare me the sob story,” David said, rolling his eyes. “Look, you're lucky I need someone real bad right now. I never do this, but fine, you're hired. I trust Thistle. He's says you're not a shit head, I'll believe him.”

Stan couldn't believe his ears. Hired? On the spot? That shit only happened in the movies, right? He wasn't about to question it though, he needed the money. Stan only had a twenty in his wallet, which wouldn't feed him for very long. 

“Also,” Thistle said, “I want to talk to you tonight. I promised Stan payment for driving me up here.”

“Ah,” David said. “No problem. You guys can stay 'till I close up if you want, or just wander around. I'll take care of you.” He looked over at Stan and smirked. “I'll consider an employee discount if you work hard enough, okay?”

“You won't be disappointed!” Stan said. Things were really falling into place for him lately. He had Ford, he had this miracle drug, and now a job. Life just couldn't get any better.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Drug mention

“Who's that?”

Ford turned around to see Fiddleford looking interestedly at the pictures he was hanging up on his new cork board. When his mother had come for lunch, she took him shopping afterwards, and bought him a few things including two lamps, a microwave, and a cork board.

“Which one?” Ford asked, grabbing a couple of push pins from a container at his feet.

“The one you're hanging up now.”

“Oh that's my brother!” Ford said happily, carefully pinning it up. “We used to take boxing classes together, and my Ma insisted on taking a photo right before our first class. That uh, that's my Pa in the back.”

“Are you twins?” Fiddleford asked, leaning in to get a better look.

“Oh, yeah!” Ford said. “Everyone always asks if we're identical or fraternal because, we look basically the same, but there are still obvious differences between us...His name is Stanley.”

“Stanley and Stanford?”

“I know,” Ford said laughing. “My parents aren't exactly creative.”

“Knock, knock!”

The two men turned to face their door, and in the arch way stood a tall woman with flowing brown hair, nut brown skin, and a set smile on her face. She held a stack of papers, and had one of the black Residence Life shirts on.

“My name is Shandra, and I'm your RA. Do you mind if I come in?”

“I'm fine if you are, Ford.”

“No problem!” Ford said. Shandra walked over to them at their words and held out one of the papers in her arms.

“I need you two to fill out this form. It's a roommate agreement form. All it does is set down the ground rules. What you expect from each other.”

The two men nodded, and Shandra's fake smile widened.

“Once you're done with it, turn it in to me. My room is right outside the elevator, and has a plaque with Resident Assistant on it, you can't miss it. The whole point of this is when you feel like strangling each other, you can come to me, and we can have a nice little talk about the things that you agreed you would do. Sound good?”

“Sounds peachy,” Fiddleford said, and took the paper from her.

“Great. There's going to be a floor meeting at seven. I expect you to be there, as it mandatory.”

And with that, she turned around and left their room. 

“Do you want to fill it out now?” Fiddleford asked. “That way we can turn it in at the floor meeting.”

“Okay.”

The two sat down on Fiddleford's bed, Ford grabbing a pen from his desk, and a book to use as a hard surface.

“Alright, first thing's first, any shared belongings?”

“My microwave, and the lamps I guess,” Ford said, scanning the room.

“Oh, and my mini fridge,” Fiddleford said, writing quickly. “Um, okay next...how do we study?”

“What?” Ford asked, confused, pulling the form towards him.

“I think it means does it have to be in total silence, or...”

“If you want to play music, I don't care,” Ford said shrugging. “When I get focused I kinda just tune everything out.”

“Okay...music in background...is...fine. Alright next question!”

They spent the next five minutes discussing and filling out the form. Occasionally they disagreed on something (Fiddleford wanted to have a specific day for chores, but Ford wanted to clean as they went) but it was pretty easy for them to come to a compromise. When it was finished, Fiddleford placed it on his desk, and Ford went back to hanging up pictures.

Seven o'clock rolled around, and the two left their room and headed to the common area. The common area had several couches, a decorated cork board, and a--

“Is that a plastic fishbowl full of condoms?” Ford said, raising his eyebrows.

“That it is,” Fiddleford said with a laugh. “That it is.”

Ford took a seat next to a small woman with a dark red bob, and found himself tensing up. Everyone from the floor was in the room. Ford never did well in crowds, and there were quite a lot of people in here. 

“Where's the RA?” the woman next to him finally said. “Since it's mandatory I thought she'd be the first person here.”

“I'm sure she'll turn up,” said a dark skinned woman with a buzz cut sitting on the couch across from them. “Just give her a second.”

As if that was her cue to come in, Shandra appeared, fake smile still on her face.

“Hello everyone!” she said cheerfully. “Let's get this meeting started! I think we should all get to know each other first. Let's all introduce ourselves, and give a fun fact about yourself. It can be anything.”

Ford suppressed a groan, and could tell that several other people were as well. He _hated_ get-to-know-you games with a passion. But what choice did he have? Leave in protest? Yeah, he totally wanted to be that guy.

“Alright, I'll start off. I'm Shandra Jimenez, and I'm from Columbia.”

Everybody went around, most people speaking in a lackluster tone of voice. The dark skinned woman who had spoken was named Aliva, and the red head was Claire. And then finally...

“I'm uh..Stanford Pines, and um--”

“Where are you from?” Claire interrupted.

“Um, New Jersey, why?” Ford said, startled.

“Just your accent,” she said. “I thought it sounded east coast-y.”

Ford felt his face grow hot. God, was his Jersey accent going to be a problem? He made a mental note to get rid of it as soon as possible.

“Well anyway,” Ford said, “I'm Stanford, and I have...I have six fingers on each hand.”

“Whoa, really?”

“Tight!”

“Let me see!”

Ford raised a hand to show everyone, and suddenly realized that Fiddleford had not commented on his hands yet. This struck Ford as strange, everyone commented. Fiddleford had surely noticed, Ford had been the one to hand him a pen. He made another mental note to ask his roommate about this.

Next up was Fiddleford, who everyone interrupted to comment on his name 'Fiddleford McGucket.' Ford expected him to get flustered, but Fiddleford took it in stride, easily taking the questions, and responding that it was an old family name that his grandmother had insisted his parents name him. He then counted that as his fun fact, and they moved on to the next person.

After that was over, Shandra cleared her throat, and stood up straight.

“Alright, now that we all know each other, let me say a few things. I am, obviously, your RA, and I am here to supervise your dorm life. If you have any questions or concerns about anything at all, do not be shy about knocking on my door. I am here to help with minor or major concerns and situations. Now,” she said, taking on a serious tone, “I have checked, and each and every one of you are under 21. That means, no alcohol. If you are caught, you will be reported to the campus police. No drugs either. Same treatment as alcohol. Understood?”

Everyone nodded, some looking sullen. Ford knew that those would be the people who would be sneaking in banned substances, and locking their doors while consuming them.

“Overnight guests are fine,” she continued, “But no more than five people to a room, and your guests can only stay for a total of two nights. If they are found here for longer than that, you will be written up.”

Shandra continued with her lists of don'ts for what seemed like half an hour. Finally, she clapped her hands together and dismissed them. While they were walking back to their room, Ford decided that this would be the best time to pose his question.

“Hey um, why haven't you asked about my hands?” Ford asked,

“Oh, I didn't think it would be polite,” Fiddleford responded. “Were you wanting me to?”

“No, I mean, I just...everyone does,” Ford said looking at the floor. “That's why I did it as my 'fun fact' or whatever. So I could just get it over with.”

Fiddleford looked at him sympathetically. “Well, you won't have to worry about it now,” he said, opening the door to their room.

“Not from the people in the dorm at least,” Ford said, walking in after Fiddleford, closing and locking the door. “But I bet people in my classes will.”

“Maybe,” Fiddleford said. “I guess you'll find out.”

Ford let out a harsh laugh. “At least I can look forwards to something.”

“Aw, there's plenty to look forwards to!” Fiddleford said, crashing on his bed. “Classes start next week! I for one am very much excited for my classes.”

“Yeah,” Ford said, stretching out on his own bed, “Me too. Finally, classes that will challenge me!” God that would be good. High school was so ridiculously easy that often times he found himself staring off into space during lectures because, well, he didn't really need to listen. He had already read the textbooks cover to cover and basically knew everything. The only classes Ford bothered paying attention in were his math classes, because he genuinely enjoyed the material. But finally, finally, he was in a place where he was actually going to learn something. Could life get any better?

* * *

“Nope, see you're spilling espresso grounds, you gotta tamp it more. Yeah there you go,” David said, hovering over Stan. It was his first day on the job, and Stan was learning how to use the espresso machine, which turned out to be a lot harder than he thought it was going to be.

“Now, uh...” David said, watching a stressed out Stan work, “Don't pull it yet...and don't forget to turn off the—yep, okay there you go. Now don't worry about making a design just...okay good.”

Stan exhaled hard through his nose, and looked at his handy work. It didn't look like the lattes David and his coworkers made, with pretty leaves and hearts on it. Even though David had said not to worry about it, he couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed.

“Now let's try it,” David said, and held out his hand for the drink. Stan gave it to him and held his breath as he watched his boss drink it. What if it was absolutely awful?

“Yeah, I'd be okay serving this,” David said with a nod. “'Snot like the stuff the rest of us make, but you'll get there with practice.”

Thank Christ.

“What about making the leaves and stuff?” Stan asked. David smiled.

“Don't you worry about that yet,” he said. “Work on making drinks that taste good, and once I feel confident that I'm gonna gain customers based on your work, I'll teach you how to do all the bells and whistles.”

At that moment, there was a jingling of bells, and the two looked up towards the door to see who had just come in. Stan felt his eyes grow wide at the sight of the customer.

He was a tall man, built like a tank, who looked like he was in his mid twenties with thick, luxurious blonde hair that hit about mid-back. The man had a red bandana tied to his head, sun kissed skin, and a magnificent handlebar mustache that somehow worked on him. His eyes were obscured by sunglasses, and his clothes! He wore black leather pants, a white shirt, and a leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders. And on his feet he wore black cowboy boots with silver spurs. 

“Hey Dave!” the man said in a husky voice, approaching the counter with a swagger to his step. 

“Jimmy!” David said, opening his arms in a welcoming gesture, “You finally decided to come visit!”

“Who's this?” Jimmy asked, nodding at Stan who realized he was still staring at Jimmy.

“Stan Pines, my newest employee.”

“Jimmy Snakes,” Jimmy said, putting out his hand. “I'm David's brother.”

“Snakes?” Stan asked, shaking his hand. “I didn't know that was your last name,” he said, turning to David, who shrugged. 

“It's not like it was that important to tell you,” he said. “Plus it's dumb as hell, I hate it.”

“Aw, no, I think it's cool!” Stan said.

“I do too,” Jimmy said, and gave Stan a smile. The word sexy flashed across Stan's mind. Jimmy was an attractive man, and there was no way anyone could deny it. But all it took was the memory of how Ford looked underneath him to make these sudden feelings go away.

“So you're new,” Jimmy said, conversationally, leaning on the counter. David raised his eyebrows.

“Um, yes.” Stan said, looking away from him. There was something about the way he was looking—no, _staring_ at him that made Stan slightly uncomfortable, but he couldn't place why.

“What made you decide to work here?”

“I had to get a job, and this was available,” Stan said, not sure how much to divulge. Jimmy was a stranger after all, and probably didn't need to know Stan's entire life story. 

“Yeah, that's why everyone gets a job in food service,” Jimmy said. “Glad I don't have to do that shit.”

“What do you do?” Stan asked.

“Oh, I'm a mechanic,” Jimmy said. “Love me some cars, or motorcycles, or anything with a motor. Got my own shop actually.”

“Wow, you guys are a family of small business owners!”

“That we are,” Jimmy said, flashing Stan another winning smile. “Hey, since I'm in a coffee shop and all, might as well order a coffee. Can I get a mocha?”

Stan gulped. In theory, he knew how to make a mocha. David had given him a brief run down of the differences between the different types of espresso drinks, and had Stan repeat it back to him. But so far, he'd only made a latte. Stan looked over at David, and was surprised to see that he had an amused look on his face.

“I-I've never--”

“Go ahead, Stan, you're gonna need to practice,” David cut across him.“I'd like to talk to my brother actually.”

Stan gave him a terrified look, and David laughed. “Stan, I won't always be here to watch what you're doing. I can't wait to see what you can do on your own.” He stepped out from behind the counter and walked over to a table a few feet away, and sat down.

“Okay,” Stan said. “What size do you want Jimmy?”

“Large would be great, kitten.”

Okay a large--

Wait.

Hold on.

Had Jimmy just called him...

“Kitten?” Stan spluttered.

“Yeah, you're cute like a little kitten,” Jimmy said, and pulled his sunglasses down a little to reveal the most beautiful eyes Stan had ever seen. They were a pale, icy blue, almost silver, with a dark blue rim around the iris. He winked at Stan, and put his sunglasses back on. “Don't forget the whipped cream. Oh, and chocolate shavings on top would be exce--”

" _James Snakes_ get your ass over here!” David said firmly, and Jimmy turned around slowly and walked on over. Stan now knew what had made him uncomfortable. Jimmy was flirting with him.

Oh my god Jimmy was flirting with him. 

Stan felt the tips of his ears turn red, and he couldn't help but smile to himself as he grabbed a cup to make Jimmy's drink. He knew he shouldn't be pleased, considering the fact that he had promised to stay faithful to Ford, but Jimmy was very attractive. And dammit, having a hot person hit on you was a pretty great feeling!

When he finished making the drink, he looked up, and saw that David was shaking his head at his brother, but had an ear to ear grin on his face. 

“Uh, your mocha is ready whenever you want it!” Stan called out, placing it on the bar. Jimmy and David walked on over, both talking in low tones. When they got to the bar, Jimmy made to grab his drink, but David blocked him, and grabbed the cup himself.

“I'm the boss, I need to taste it,” he said, causing his brother to roll his eyes. He took a sip, and handed it over to Jimmy and smiled.

“Not half bad Stan. I'll make a pro barista out of you yet.”

“I think it's magnificent,” Jimmy said, and this time, there was no mistaking it, Jimmy was in fact flirting. The tone of voice, the smile, even the way he was standing! What about him made this guy instantly attracted? 

“Yeah of course you do,” David said. “I'm gonna take my lunch break with Jimmy okay?” he said, turning to Stan. “I won't be gone too long. I'm just down the street if anything goes crazy.”

“I'll be back soon,” Jimmy said, raising his cup to Stan. 

Jimmy kept to his word, and came in almost every single day, just to talk to Stan, even if it was only for five minutes. He claimed he was here for the free drinks and food, but Stan knew better. And while he was flattered, he kept going over in his mind how he was going to turn Jimmy down if he asked him out. But so far, it seemed as though he just enjoyed casually flirting with Stan. And while he would never admit it, Stan quite enjoyed the attention.

“Hey kitty-cat, you should grow that hair of yours out,” Jimmy said one day, joining Stan on his lunch break.

“You think?” Stan asked, running a hand through his hair. “I dunno, I've always had it short.”

“Well that's reason enough!” Jimmy said, taking a sip of his third coffee of the day. “Do something different. I think you'd look fantastic.”

“Thanks,” Stan said, flustered. 

“You know, we should hang out sometime,” Jimmy said casually, rubbing the rim of his cup with his pointer finger. 

Here it comes.

“There's this great bar David and I like--”

“Oh, I'm 18,” Stan said quickly. Jimmy looked slightly taken aback.

“You're only 18?”

“Is that...bad?” Stan asked.

“No, it's just...I assumed you were older, that's all. Thought you were at least 21.”

_Thought or hoped?_ Stan wondered.

“Well, there are other things to do,” Jimmy said. “I just got a new place, and I'm gonna throw a house warming party. If you wanna come, that'd be awesome.”

“Yeah, sure when is it?” Stan asked. A house warming party isn't a date, so he wasn't breaking his promise to Ford. And if Jimmy tried anything...well, he had prepared a speech.

Jimmy's whole face lit up, and he sat up straighter in his seat. “It's next Monday. I'll pick you and David up after work, and we can go to my place.”

“Okay,” Stan said, “That sounds great.”

God, what was he getting himself into?

“Um, are you okay?” Jimmy asked after a few seconds.

“What?” Stan asked, confused. “That came out of nowhere.”

“It's just this whole day, I've noticed you've looked--”

“Hey Stan!”

Stan and Jimmy looked up to see David walking over to them.

“Oh, is it time for me to--?”

“No, you got five more minutes,” David said. “I just wanted to let you know that Thistle is coming over tonight, and wanted us three to hang out.”

“Yeah okay!” Stan said, but for some reason, Jimmy looked somber, almost angry.

“Invitation is open to you too Jimmy,” David said, nodding at his brother.

“Fuck Thistle,” Jimmy growled, surprising Stan. 

“What's wrong with Thistle?” Stan asked.

“You obviously don't know him well enough,” Jimmy said, and stood up fast, nearly knocking his chair over. He strode over to David and jabbed a finger at his chest.

“You let anything happen to this kid and I'll rip your fucking sack off myself.”

“He's 18, an adult,” David said in an even tone. “He can make his own choices.”

Jimmy growled again, and then looked at Stan, a dangerous glint in his eye. “That fucker tries to make you do something you don't wanna you come to me, got it Stan?”

Stan blinked. Jimmy never called him by his name. He referred to Stan as kitty-cat or kitten. Using his first name...he must be upset.

“Okay,” Stan said, shrinking under Jimmy's gaze. Satisfied with Stan's answer, Jimmy turned and slammed out of the coffee shop, not bothering to say goodbye.

“What did Thistle do to him?” Stan asked, watching him go. David sighed deeply, and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger.

“Jimmy's really against Thistle's lifestyle, and blames him for getting me into it,” David said. 

“Was he why?” Stan asked as David slid into Jimmy's abandoned seat.

“I guess,” David said. “But I chose to do my uh, second job, all on my own. Thistle had nothing to do with that.”

There was a short silence in between them, in which Stan began to think hard.

“What would he do if he knew I was...?”

“He'd be pissed,” David said, and leaned back in his seat. “Beyond pissed, but not at you. He'd probably go kill Thistle. But hey, let's not worry about my brother, yeah? Just finish out the day, and get ready for a great night, okay?”

“About that,” Stan said quickly. “I...something is wrong. With. The stuff.”

“What?” David said incredulously. “What do you mean something's wrong with it?”

Stan shifted in his seat. Last night was when it had happened, and he had been wanting to talk to David about it all day. But there hadn't been a good time to do it, no natural opening. The shop had just emptied, and they were talking about what they were going to do tonight...it was now or never.

“It isn't working anymore.”

A look of comprehension crossed David's face, and he nodded. “You've built up a tolerance. You just need a higher dose, that's all. Don't sweat it. I'll up your amount tonight okay? It'll be fine.”

“Is it gonna cost more?” Stan asked.

“Well yeah,” David said with a laugh. “But I'll just take it out of your paycheck.”

“You sure it'll work?” Stan asked, concerned.

“What's that tone of voice for?” David asked, raising an eyebrow. “I already said it'll be fine.”

“Yeah, I know I just...today has been bad.” And so it had. He'd had to work hard to control waves of nausea and god, his body was so sore. It wasn't even a muscle thing, it felt like his very bones were on fire. He knew the pain would go away if he used, but last night...he had shot up and nothing had happened. What if that kept happening? What if this pain never went away?

“You use every day, don't you?” David asked, narrowing his eyes.

Stan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Yeah,” he mumbled. He hadn't meant for this to happen, but when you have happiness you can just inject, why would you pass it up? 

“Does it hurt?” David asked. “You feeling sick?”

“Yeah.” Stan said. How had he known? Well, Jimmy had noticed something was up, maybe it was obvious.

David sighed deeply. “Look, I don't have my shit with me right now, so you're just going to have to deal until tonight. You think you can handle it?”

Stan scratched the back of his head. “I guess so.”

“I'll get you enough to last the week. Employee discount, 50% off, okay?”

Stan smiled. “Thank you so much.”

“Don't mention it,” David said. “I always look out for my friends. Also I can't have you coming work and not being able to do your job because you're in pain, or throwing up.”

“Thanks. Think I got some kinda flu. Will it really help with the nausea?”

For some reason, David smirked. “Oh yeah. I got the cure for your illness bud, just wait 'till tonight.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Drug use

_Leibniz's Rule:_

_If f is continuous on [a,b] and if u(x) and v(x) are differentiable functions of x whose values lie in [a,b], then_

“Mail call!”

Ford jumped slightly, and turned away from his textbook, to see that Fiddleford had entered the room with a stack of mail in his hand.

“Most of this is junk,” Fiddleford said, walking over, “But you have another letter from home.”

“Oh cool,” Ford said absentmindedly. He accepted the letter from Fiddleford, and promptly placed it in his desk drawer. Fiddleford raised an eyebrow.

“Are you ever going to read those?” he asked, walking over to his own desk and setting the rest of the mail down.

“I'm _busy!_ ” Ford said, gesturing to his textbook. “I don't have time to read letters!” As of today, he had five letters just sitting in his desk drawer. Ford knew he should read them, but there was so much going on with his classes, so much to learn! The textbooks were fascinating, and Ford found himself staying up at night just reading them. He felt slightly guilty as two of the letters (now three) were from Stan, but he was sure that his brother would understand. And it wasn't like he was never going to respond!

“Well I can see what you're doing with your night tonight,” Fiddleford said, slitting open one of his letters with a finger, “but I'm going to spending mine a little differently.”

“Oh?” Ford said, closing his textbook

“Yes,” Fiddleford said. “I'll be leaving in a bit, and I...probably won't be back until sometime tomorrow.”

“Why?” Ford asked.

“I have a date,” Fiddleford said, but for some reason, he seemed very tense.

“That's great!” Ford said. “What's her name?”

Fiddleford bit his lip, and averted his eyes. “Johnathan.”

“Johnathan?” Ford asked, confused. Wasn't Johnathan a-- 

Oh.

_Oh._

“I see,” Ford said finally. “She is actually a he.”

“That is correct,” Fiddleford said in a formal tone of voice. “This isn't going to be a problem is it?” he said, looking Ford directly in the eyes.

“No, I-I like guys too!” Ford said with an awkward smile, and Fiddleford laughed.

“No joking? You're gay?”

“Totally serious,” Ford said. “I'm...I'm gay.” As the words left Ford's lips he realized that this was the first time he'd actually acknowledged that he was gay. Even though he was in love with his brother, even though he'd jacked off to his brother for _years_ , and even though they had finally had sex...gay was not a word that Ford associated with himself. Not until this very moment. 

“Are you out?” Fiddleford asked.

“Am I what?” Ford asked, not understanding at first. “Oh! Um, no actually. Nobody but my brother knows. And I guess you too. But I mean,” he said, clasping his hands together tightly, “maybe I should be.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Fiddleford asked.

“Well, WCT is a new start for me, you know?” Ford said with a shaky smile. “All the negativity I've...left it behind. Maybe, maybe now I can really be myself.”

“Your parents aren't supportive I take it,” Fiddleford said, looking at him sympathetically.

“No,” Ford said truthfully. “My dad hasn't made it a secret that he's against gay people. I have no idea what he would do if he found out. Are uh...are you out?”

“Yes,” Fiddleford said. “I got lucky that I have parents that don't give a crap what or who I do. I was more nervous about you. Having a roommate that wouldn't support me, or might even hate me...that was nerve wracking. Never would've thought you'd be gay as well!”

“I guess we both got lucky,” Ford said with a smile. “So what are you guys going to do?” he asked. Fiddleford had noticeably relaxed, and smiled at the question.

“We're going to eat and then go dancing,” he said. 

“Like at a club?” Ford asked.

“Yes, Ford, at a club.”

“Are under 21s allowed in clubs?” Ford asked. Fiddleford cocked his head at him, a strange look on his face.

“Well...that depends on the club. Some of them only allow people 21 and over, and some have a bar area that is separate from the dance floor, so 18 year olds can go to those. You've never gone dancing, have you?” Fiddleford asked, sitting on his bed, and setting his letter down next to him.

“Oh, uh. No, I...I mean my brother used to go dancing at a juke joint, but I never went with him,” Ford said, looking down at his lap. “It sounds fun in _theory,_ but I can't dance. Not even a little. I mean I tried at school dances, and I just...I just _couldn't._ ”

“That's probably because you were overthinking it,” Fiddleford said wisely. “You just have to let go, and not worry about what everyone else is thinking.”

“That's impossible,” Ford said, shaking his head.

“No it's not!” Fiddleford said earnestly. “Look, you and me, we'll go this weekend, I'll show you that it's not hard!”

“What?” Ford said, and felt a swooping sensation in his stomach. Dancing? With Fiddleford?

“Come on, it'll be fun!” Fiddleford said. “Look, we'll get a group together, okay? And it will finally get you out of the room, all you do is study.”

“That is absolutely _not true,_ ” Ford said, crossing his arms. “I do _plenty_ of other things.”

“Like what?” Fiddleford said, picking up his letter and unfolding it. “Name one thing you've done other than study today.”

“I bought groceries.”

“Ooo sounds like a good time,” Fiddleford said, scanning his letter. “I know wandering the produce aisle is one of my favorite activities.” 

“Oh shut up!” Ford said, his ears turning red. “What have you done today?”

“Well, I got some lunch with a friend, I got new strings for my banjo, and I went and got some tobacco.”

“Why did you just buy tobacco?” Ford asked.

“It's for my pipe.”

“You smoke a pipe?” Ford asked, amused. “Isn't that an old man thing?”

Fiddleford put his letter down and threw his pillow at Ford. “I happen to prefer it to cigarettes, is that so wrong?”

Ford chucked the pillow back, but Fiddleford dodged, and it missed him by centimeters. 

“I gotta get ready now, okay?” he said, and Ford nodded, returning to his textbook. He was about halfway through when Fiddleford began to speak.

“Can you tell me how I look?”

Ford put his book down, turned around, and had to work hard not to let his jaw drop.

“I didn't know you owned skinny jeans!” Ford blurted out. Fiddleford laughed.

“I didn't until today!” Fiddleford had traded his soft blue bellbottoms for black skinny jeans, and his tie-dye shirt for a white button down and skinny black tie. “You see, Johnathan is up on the latest trends, and...I've always been stuck in the 70s, and I, well...for a first date, I wanted to impress him.” Fiddleford said, sounding a bit embarrassed.

“If he agreed to go with you, I'm sure he's fine with how you dress,” Ford said, doing his best to console his friend. “But you look great.” _Who knew he had such great legs?_

As that thought crossed his mind, Ford suddenly felt awful. He shouldn't be ogling other men like this, not when he had a boyfriend!

Boyfriend.

He wondered if Stan viewed them as boyfriends. They had promised to be true to each other, but Stan might have a different idea of what their relationship really was. Ford made a mental note to write to his brother. Oh drat, that would mean he'd have to read all those letters...maybe asking his brother about their relationship could wait.

Fiddleford turned to his full length mirror he'd hung on the wall, and began to fidget with his tie, a concerned look on his face.

“You seem really nervous Fid,” Ford said. “I never thought I'd see the day! You're usually so...calm and collected.”

“A simple lapse in my equipoise,” Fiddleford said, trying to decide if he wanted his shirt tucked in or not. “And anyway, most people are nervous before a date, it's not that surprising.”

“Your what?” Ford asked. 

“My equipoise!” Fiddleford said cheerfully. “My balance of emotion. You know Robert E. Lee?”

“Yeah! I remember in one of my history classes, Stan said he looked like Colonel Sanders.”

Fiddleford snorted. “He'd get shot in Norfolk for saying that!”

“Is that where you're from?” Ford asked.

“Indeed it is,” Fiddleford said. “Virginia born and raised. But anyway, he was the master of equipoise.”

“So Stan would get shot for dishonoring General Lee, eh?” Ford said, leaning back in his chair. “Would they sit in a rocking chair on their wrap around porch and kill him with a squirrel rifle?”

“Now normally I would frown on you mocking my heritage,” Fiddleford said, rolling his eyes, “But my best friend took his girlfriend to shoot rats in a dump for a date once, so I can't really say much.”

Ford busted up laughing, and wiped a tear from his eye while saying, “You're joking, right? You're joking! You have to be kidding me.”

“No sir, I am not.” Fiddleford said, shaking his head. “I still can't believe he did that. Now anyway, I've got to get going. Have fun studying, okay?”

“Yeah, and you have a great time on your date! Whenever you get back, tell me how it goes! And uh, stay safe? Is that what I'm supposed to say?” Ford asked, chewing on his lip.

“You are hilarious,” Fiddleford said. “I will be sure to use a condom.” 

Ford turned pink, and Fiddleford shook his head, smiling. “You are the biggest virgin I have ever met.”

“I'm not a virgin!” Ford said, defensively. “I've...I've done it before.”

“Alright, I'll amend my previous statement,” Fiddleford said, opening the door. “You are the biggest prude I have ever met. See you tomorrow!” And with that he closed the door.

“I am not,” Ford mumbled. And for the first time, he suddenly wished that he wasn't cooped up in his room studying.

* * *

“Extra foamy chai to-go, for Isabelle!” Stan called out, and watched a pretty blonde come up and grab her drink. She gave him a sly smile and sashayed away from him, and Stan couldn't help but stare at her as she left.

“Whatcha lookin' at kitten?”

Stan jumped, and saw Jimmy sauntering over to the bar, eyebrows furrowed.

“O-oh uh...” Stan stuttered, a his cheeks turning pink. “Nothing.”

“Well 'nothing' seemed to like the looks of you,” Jimmy said, and leaned against the counter. “When you find the time to put your eyes back in your head, could I get a large mint mocha latte with--”

“White chocolate sprinkles, no problem.” Stan said, and grabbed a cup.

“You know me so well,” Jimmy said, whipping off his sunglasses, and giving Stan a dazzling smile.

“You order this every day, it's pretty easy to remember,” Stan said, rolling his eyes.

“I do not! Just yesterday, I ordered a black coffee with a squirt of lemon!” Jimmy said defensively.

“And you didn't finish it, so David made you a mocha,” Stan said. “Because apparently to drink coffee you need ten sugar packets, half a gallon of milk and someone to hold your hand while you drink it.”

“Ooo my kitty-cat has claws! I like it.” Jimmy said, biting his bottom lip.

“Do you want a design or whipped cream?” Stan said, working very hard to ignore his friend.

“Gimme a design, I wanna see what kind of art you can do.”

Very carefully, Stan made a heart, and put the sprinkles around the edges of the cup. “What do you think?” he asked, sliding the mug over to Jimmy.

“A heart? For me?” Jimmy said, clutching his chest. “I'm flattered.”

“Don't be too flattered,” Stan said warningly, “It's the only design I can actually do.”

Stan noticed he had a customer waiting, and hurriedly rushed over to the register. It was only him and David for the closing shift, and David was currently at the bakery down the street, picking up their latest order. This left Stan all on his own, and he hated it. He so wished that his coworker Leah hadn't left early. She was excellent at making drinks—Stan had never seen someone whip out quality coffee with the speed that she did. 

“Can I get a small vanilla latte for here?” the man in front of him said, pulling out his wallet.

“No problem,” Stan said, ringing him up. “That'll be $2.45. What's the name?”

“Ahren.”

As he was accepting the money from the man, he couldn't help but feel like he was being watched. Slowly turning his head, he noticed that Jimmy was staring intensely at him.

“Here's your change, I'll have it out in just a second.”

When he went back over to the espresso machine, Jimmy leaned on the bar, getting as close to Stan as possible, and cleared his throat.

“Yes?” Stan asked, scooping out some espresso grounds.

“You look like shit,” Jimmy said without preamble.

“Excuse me?” Stan said, offended. 

“Just the way you're acting. You got this mopey look on your face and you just look...I dunno.” Jimmy said, shrugging. “You gonna tell me what's up?”

Stan didn't say anything as he finished up the drink, and called it out. Jimmy looked on the verge of speech before Stan said,

“It's my brother.”

“Oh? What's wrong with him? Not doing well in school?”

Stan had taken no time in telling Jimmy all about Ford. Well almost all about him. He wasn't quite sure that it would be appropriate to tell Jimmy he was in relationship with his brother. After all, who knew how Jimmy would react? But every thing else, Stan had divulged. 

“No. Well, actually I don't know, because he's not responding to any of my letters!” Stan said, a hint of anger in his voice. A few weeks ago, it had occurred to him that Ford might be sending letters home, and Stan would of course not be receiving a single one. So after a few minutes of begging, David had allowed Stan to use the shop as his address, as “the red 1965 Cadillac deVille outside of Alma's” wouldn't exactly work. Every day he checked the shop's mail, even on his days off. But still, no letter. So far he had sent three, and was convinced that they had been lost in the mail. Ford wouldn't ignore him, would he?

“I'm sure he's just busy,” Jimmy said consolingly. “Don't let it get to you, it's ruining your gorgeous face.”

“M-m-my what?” Stan said, blushing violently.

“You heard me,” Jimmy said, giving him a coy smile. “You still coming to my party tonight?”

“Oh, yeah, that was the plan,” Stan said, still flustered from the compliment. “You're still taking me and David?”

“Yep,” Jimmy said, taking a sip from his coffee. “Here's the plan. I'm gonna finish this coffee, I'm gonna go back to my shop and make sure my workers aren't fucking up, and then I'll come back and pick you two up. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” Stan said. With permission from David, he had brought a change of clothes and his drugs into the shop so that he could get ready. He was starting to need to shoot up once in the morning and once at night. Stan was still managing to get high, but somehow that only felt like a bonus to him. 

His joints were hurting. Pulling a shot on the espresso machine, picking things up, even walking was miserable. This bone deep pain that he couldn't explain...but there was an easy solution, a solution that was eating up his paycheck. Stan had been planning on getting a place of his own, but there was no way he could do that. All he could afford now was food, gas, drugs, and change to park his car. There was no extra money left after all of that. 

Stan had very nearly admitted to Ford what was going on in his latest letter, but he couldn't do it. It would just stress Ford out, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. But keeping secrets from his brother felt awful. Not telling him about Jack was one thing, but this? This was different. This was big. And Stan was slowly realizing that maybe he had a problem. Ford was the fucking master of solving problems. If he could only get the courage to tell him...Maybe Ford could help somehow.

Jimmy left as David arrived, and the rest of the night went much faster. David made the drinks, and Stan rang everyone up. As the evening slowed down, David dismissed him to get ready for the party.

First, Stan got his fix. His body was beginning to ache, and he knew that it wouldn't be long before the cold sweats overtook him. Stan closed the door to the office, and sat down a corner of the room. After a few moments, he got everything ready, tied the latex band around his arm, and stuck the needle in. The rush came, relaxation and peace spreading throughout his body. His eyes closed, and he could feel everything slowing down. When he came down from his high, he stood back up, and picked up his clothes that he'd folded on the office desk.

He slipped on his dark wash skinny jeans, a clean white shirt, and his favorite brown leather bomber jacket. He was looking pretty good if he did say so himself. Stan ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it up a little bit. It was starting to get a bit long, and he wasn't quite sure what he thought about it. Stan wondered what Ford would think if he was here. Would he like it? Or would he roll his eyes and tell Stan he looked stupid? Jimmy kept telling him it looked nice...he briefly wondered if he would enjoy how Stan looked tonight.

Ugh, Jimmy! Why did he care what Jimmy thought? He was just a friend, that was it. But he was an extremely attractive friend, one who unashamedly flirted with him at every opportunity. And Stan would be the first to admit that yes, he was an attention whore, and he loved being lavished with praise and affection. 

“Knock, knock, you done in there?” It was David.

“Yep!” Stan said, and opened up the door. 

“Looking good!” David said approvingly. “Wanna help me finish closing? Not much else left to do.”

The two finished up, (putting chairs on top of tables, and doing the sweeping and mopping) and by the time they were ready to lock up, Jimmy had arrived. 

“You sure do look nice,” Jimmy said, giving Stan a long once over. “I like your jacket.”

“Oh, thanks! It was a birthday gift.”

“Did you bring your motorcycle?” David asked. “Mine's next to Stan's car, I can follow you.”

“Sure did,” Jimmy said. “Kitten, you're riding with me. Ever been on a bike before?”

“No,” Stan said, a little nervously.

“It's fun as hell. Now come on out, and I'll teach you the rules of motorcyclin'.”

They walked outside, and David stood by his bike, watching them with an amused look that Stan didn't quite like. Why couldn't he ride with David?

 _You know why,_ a little voice said in the back of his head. 

“First rule of motorcyclin'!” Jimmy said loudly, “Always wear a helmet.” Stan noticed that there were two helmets on the handles of Jimmy's bike. And what a bike it was! Sleek and shiny with flame decals on it. Alright, maybe he'd be okay being on the back of this. Stan accepted one of the helmets, and put it on.

“Second rule of motorcyclin'! Don't make it weird,” Jimmy said, hopping onto his bike.

“What?”

“Get on kitten, and I'll tell you what I mean.” Stan hopped onto the bike and sat directly behind him, not really sure what he was supposed to be doing.

“Now you're gonna put your arms around my waist and lean on my back. Don't make it weird.”

Ah.

Stan gingerly circled his arms around Jimmy's waist, and leaned forward as instructed. He wondered if Jimmy was secretly enjoying this.

“Yeah, you're gonna wanna do it tighter than that unless your plan is to fall off.”

Stan breathed out heavily, and tightened his grip. Jimmy's body had a little bit of give to it, but was harder than Stan had expected.

_I wonder what he looks like with his shirt off_

Wait.

No.

There was no way he just thought that.

“Third rule of motorcyclin'!” Jimmy continued, putting on his own helmet and tucking his hair into it, “is do exactly what I tell you to do. If I tell you to lean into a curve, fucking lean into that curve. If I tell you to counterbalance, you better goddamn counterbalance, got it?”

“Yes, Jimmy.” 

“Alright then. Let's go.” 

Wow Jimmy had been right, being on a bike was _fun._ The way the wind whipped past you, the way you could just feel how fast you were going...it was exhilarating. Too soon the ride was over, and they were parking out front of a pretty red brick apartment complex. Except Jimmy had said...oh, these must be condos.

They got off the bike, and waited as David found somewhere to park, and joined them. They walked into the building, and Stan marveled at how pretty it was. It was a wonderful mixture of old and new, with gorgeous wood flooring. Luckily there was an elevator, as Jimmy lived on the top floor. Not so luckily, it was old. As it went up it creaked and rumbled, and Stan felt himself tensing up.

“Aw, kitty it's okay,” Jimmy said, and pulled him close. Stan knew he shouldn't be enjoying this, but...

Fuck he was so lonely.

Without any contact from Ford, he honestly felt extremely abandoned. A relationship with zero contact was hard to maintain, and how long was it going to be before he relented and took what was being offered?

No.

No he would never do that to Ford.

He had promised that he would stay true, and Stanley Pines did not break his promises.

After all, Jimmy was probably right, Ford was just busy. He would get a letter back any day now. It would be a massive letter, telling him all about school, and how very sorry he was that he hadn't written sooner. And every thing would be back to normal.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike previous chapters, Stan's will not be having a time skip in chapter 9! You will indeed get to see the party. Also: Fiddleford's anecdote about the date at the dump? That is a real thing that happened to my mom! A boy asked her out, and he drove her to the dump, gave her a gun, and they shot rats and roaches together. She was not impressed, but I think it's the greatest story ever.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: drug use and some really sad times.
> 
> Ford's POV is basically nothing because I wanted to focus on Stan, and damn it was getting quite long. 
> 
> I also want to thank everyone who has stuck with me! You're awesome. :) Also, to those who have been commenting? You guys are the light of my life, thank you so much, I appreciate every single one.

“I am not coming out of here.”

“Oh come on, let us see.”

“No.”

Ford stared at his reflection in the dressing room mirror, and shook his head. He couldn't believe that Fiddleford and his boyfriend had convinced him to put on this... _atrocity._

“What's wrong with them?” Fiddleford asked from the other side of the door.

“They're so... _tight,_ ” Ford said. It was the first time Ford had ever worn skinny jeans, and wow did they ever hug his ass. It made it look so...big. Ford had always been a bit self conscious about it, and now here it was, on display.

“That's the idea, buddy,” said Johnathan. When Fiddleford posed the idea of going dancing this weekend, Johnathan had insisted that they get Ford some new clothes.

“Do you really want to wear _that_ to the club?” Johnathan had said when Ford had said the clothes he already had were just fine.

“What...what does that mean?” Ford had asked angrily.

“I'm just _saying,_ ” Johnathan had said with a shrug. “I mean, it's an...okay look normally, but for dancing? You want to show yourself off. That does not show you off. Your outfit screams nerdy virgin.”

Ford wasn't entirely sure what had happened after Johnathan had said that. All he knew was that he had somehow ended up in the dressing room of a fancy department store, trying on pants that he could barely walk in. He didn't want anyone to see him in this!

Well.

Maybe Stan.

He wouldn't mind Stan seeing him like this.

“Okay, I'll...I'll come out.” Ford took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Wow I'd fuck you!” Johnathan said, and received a playful punch from Fiddleford. “What?” he said to Fiddleford. “Look at him! Look at that ass! Who knew?”

“I'm not a piece of meat!” Ford said, and could feel his face reddening. 

“You do look good,” Fiddleford agreed, “But hopefully Johnathan will remember that I'm the only one he should be objectifying.”

“Sorry Fids,” Johnathan said in babyish voice, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “It's just surprising.”

“Me looking good is surprising?” Ford said, slightly offended.

“I assumed you would look better,” Johnathan said, “But I wasn't expecting you to have a bubble butt! I mean, I knew your jeans were baggy, but dang.”

“Okay, that's it, these are coming off,” Ford said, whipping around and heading back into the dressing room. 

“You're buying them though, right?”

“I dunno,” Ford said with a sigh, peeling them off of his legs. “I don't have anything that would go with them.”

“Oh come on,” Fiddleford said through the door. “Skinny jeans and a button down is a great look! All we need to do is get you a blazer and you'll be set.”

“More stuff?” Ford said, pulling on his normal, comfortable jeans. “Look, I'm not trying to impress anyone.” he said, flinging open the door. 

“Why not?” Johnathan asked. “You should always dress to impress. I do.”

Ford glared at him. He did not care for Johnathan, not one bit. But what could he do? Fiddleford really seemed to like him, and Ford wasn't going to be the one to tell him that his “catch” was a douchebag.

They wandered the department store a bit more, and Ford tried on a few more items, hating each and every one of them. Even so, he left the store with those wretched jeans and a cardigan.

To his eternal delight, Johnathan parted ways with them when they reached the dorm. He had his own studying to do, and also needed to check if a few people on his floor still wanted to go dancing this weekend.

“Sorry about all that,” Fiddleford said as they hopped into the elevator. “John can get a little...enthusiastic.”

“He kept talking about my butt.”

“John is used to being able to talk to his friends in that sort of way,” Fiddleford said slowly, “And I think he forgets that not everyone is comfortable with having their bodies talked about.”

“His friends like that kind of stuff?” Ford asked as they exited the elevator and headed to their room.

“They're just more...playful about it. They don't really have any inhibitions.”

“Great,” Ford mumbled, fumbling with the lock on their door. “That's who we're going to be hanging out with this weekend.”

“Aw, it'll be fine Ford,” Fiddleford said consolingly, following him into the room. “Look, I'll be sure to let them know that you're...um. That you're uncomfortable with that sort of thing. But I think you'll really like them. There's this one guy named Ollie who I think you'll really like.” Fiddleford said coyly.

Ford paused, about to put his cardigan on a hanger. “Hold on. Are you trying to set me up with someone?”

“Is that so bad?” Fiddleford asked, plopping down on his bed.

“Yes!” Ford said, upset. “I...I...”

“Wait,” Fiddleford said, a lopsided grin on his face. “Is there someone else?”

“I...maybe? Yes.” Ford said. Oh god oh god what was he doing Fiddleford was going to ask he was going to ask and he was going to have to answer oh god oh god oh

“Who is it?”

Shit.

“Someone back home,” Ford mumbled, hanging up his purchase.

“Are you serious?” Fiddleford said, eyebrows raised. “You're pining over someone thousands of miles away?”

“I don't want to talk about it!” Ford said, upset. 

“Are you guys together?”

“I think so,” Ford said, suddenly realizing that the lack of contact may have changed the nature of their relationship. Okay, he was _definitely_ going to have to write. What if Stan thought that he wasn't interested anymore? That hadn't been something he'd anticipated would happen. He had thought just being true would be enough.

“But you don't know.”

“Fiddleford!”

“All I'm saying,” Fiddleford said, picking up a textbook from next to his bed, “Is that...letting go and having fun might do you some good.”

“I can let go and have fun without dating someone!”

“I never said you had to date.”

“I'm not doing that either!” Ford said, stomping over to his dresser, and opening a drawer a bit too roughly. “I don't want to have sex with anyone but my...”

“Your what? Crush? You already said you don't know what you guys are.”

“We're done talking,” Ford said angrily. “I need some air.” And with that, he slammed his dresser drawer shut, and stomped out of the room. It was him and Stan forever...but how could he tell Fiddleford that he was dating his own brother?

The answer was that he couldn't. How could he even look him in the eye after saying something like that? Dating your brother, _your twin,_ was quite possibly the most taboo thing you could do. Was there a single soul out there that would accept them?

And it was then that Ford started thinking about his future with Stan. What kind of future could he give his brother? All he had to give was secrets and lies, and how long could Stan put up with that? Ford know that he personally could live that way forever...but he and Stan had gotten together at lightening speed, no time to talk, no time to consider what their lives were going to be. What if...what if when Stan really took the time to think about it, he realized that this wasn't what he wanted?

No.

Ford couldn't think about that, wouldn't think about it. Stan wanted him, he had to!

What had he gotten his brother into?

* * *

“Alright, this is it! What do you think?”

The condo was, in Stan's opinion, fantastic. It had a very industrial feel to it, and Jimmy had kept the lights dimmed, giving the place a nice warm glow.

“I like it!” Stan said, and began to wander around.

“It's a two bedroom, one bath,” Jimmy said, watching Stan look about. “The second bedroom is my music room.”

“Your music room?” Stan said, interested.

“Yeah, wanna see?”

Jimmy walked Stan and David down a hallway and entered one of the rooms. Stan couldn't help but gasp.

The walls were covered in guitars. Acoustic and electric, they hung on the walls like art, and Stan rushed forwards to get a better look. There were book cases as well, but instead of books, they were filled with records. A desk sat in one corner, and on it stood a sleek record player.

“You like them?” Jimmy asked, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yes!” Stan said, turning around and beaming at his friend. “I used to have a guitar! I left it back at home,” he said sadly. That red electric had been his most prized possession, and he felt incomplete without it.

“Well, I'd love to hear you p--”

Just then the doorbell rang. “Sorry kitten, I've gotta go get that, some more people are here.” Jimmy said apologetically, and exited the room.

“Let's go meet them!” David said, and forcibly pulled Stan from the music room. When they got into the main area, they found Jimmy talking animatedly with a few people who looked a lot like him. They all wore black leather and boots. One of the men even had the exact same pair of Ray-Bans that Jimmy wore.

“Hey you two!” Jimmy said as the entered the room. “These are some of my biker buds.” He made the introductions, and Stan felt a little intimidated by them. They were all big and rough looking, but after talking to the men, he found himself liking them immensely. They were incredibly sweet and funny, and couple of them recognized Stan by his name. Stan was a little bashful at this as it meant Jimmy had been speaking about him to his friends. What had he been saying?

The party turned out to be a blast, and Jimmy had even bought some non-alcoholic things for Stan to drink.

“Aw, ruining his fun before he got here, eh?” David said, as Jimmy tossed Stan a can of Coke.

“I won't be corrupting any minors in my house,” Jimmy said firmly. “At least not in that way,” he added, causing Stan to choke on his soda. Jimmy struck up a conversation with one of his friends as Stan looked up at him, and seemed to be purposefully avoiding his gaze.

God, Jimmy sure threw Stan some fastballs that really bowled him over the plate. Ford had been like that too, but now it was all curve balls, and he had no idea which way they were going, no idea what Ford's feelings really were. If he would just answer his damn letters! So far it just seemed like his brother didn't care about him any more.

“Hey, what's up?” It was David.

“Not...not much,” Stan said, untruthfully. “Just thinking.”

“Overthinking, by the looks of it,” David said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Do you need to go?”

“Yeah actually I thi-”

“Hey wait, what's this I hear about you leaving?”

Stan looked over his shoulder, and saw a disappointed looking Jimmy, standing there with a half finished beer. “We've only just got started!”

“He doesn't feel good,” David said.

“Thinking about your brother?” Jimmy asked. Stan nodded, and suddenly found himself wrapped up in a hug. It was at this moment that Stan fully appreciated just how tall his friend was. Jimmy was able to rest his chin on the top of Stan's head, a gesture that somehow comforted him. Physical affection had always done wonders for Stan's mood, even if it was a simple side hug.

“It's going to be okay,” Jimmy said, giving him a rough pat on the back and releasing him. “Your brother is going to write back, he's going to contact you. He's not going to throw away your relationship just because he's at school!”

Stan knew that Jimmy was referring to a platonic, familial relationship, but he hoped the same would apply to a romantic one. He prayed that his brother hadn't found someone new.

_Like you_

No.

No, Jimmy had found _him._ Stan on the other hand was not attracted to him, not even a little bit.

_Sure you're not_

Ok fine, Jimmy was an gorgeous man, but physical attraction and emotional attraction were completely different things. His heart belonged to Ford. It was him and his brother forever, no matter how many attractive men entered their lives.

“Would it help to play some music?” Jimmy said, startling Stan out of his reverie. “You can play one of my guitars if you like. Or I can play you something.”

“I haven't heard you play in forever,” David said, a glint in his eye. “Stan can play in a minute.”

So Jimmy had everyone gather round, and he brought out one of his electric guitars, a beautiful red epiphone Gibson Les Paul guitar. 

“Everyone like Blondie?” he asked, plugging the guitar in. “Cause that's what I'm playing.”

Nobody had any objections, so he began to play One Way or Another, and damn he was good! And not only could he play well, he his voice was amazing. It was dark and rich, and Stan found that he was closing his eyes so he block everything else out. 

“Alright, you said I could play something,” Stan said when Jimmy finished. “You still gonna let me?”

“Go for it cutie,” Jimmy said, handing over the guitar. Stan relished the feeling of having an instrument in his hands again. He remembered attempting to teach his brother how to play the guitar, but Ford had been miserable at it. 

_“It hurts!”_

_“Yeah Ford, it's gonna hurt at first until you build up some calluses.”_

_“I don't want to play something that's going to hurt me. It's like it hates me.”_

_“Oh my god Ford.”_

“Whatcha gonna play?” asked one of Jimmy's friends, bringing Stan back to Earth.

“A song my brother used to request all the time,” Stan said with a smile. He began to play and one of Jimmy's friends gave a cheer.

“What I like about you, you hold me tight...tell me I'm the only one, wanna come over tonight... yeah! Keep on whispering in my ear, tell me all the things that I wanna hear 'cause it's true, that's what I like about you.”

The group began to sing along with him, and for the first time in a while, he felt alive. People were smiling, laughing, and cheering for him! This was even better than the rush he got from heroin. Being connected, people actually liking him...it was an amazing feeling. And this song immersed him in memories...Memories that he finally understood. Now he knew why Ford wanted to hear Stan sing this song to him.

_“What are you playing?”_

_“Nothing really, just messing around.” Stan said, plucking out a few notes._

_“Could you play What I Like About You?” Ford asked timidly._

_“Really? Again? Do you not know any other songs?”_

_“Fine! Whatever, you don't have to--”_

_“No, no, I'll play for you, I was just kidding Sixer, jeez.”_

“Someone has a set of pipes on him!” David said, impressed, as Stan finished the song. “You a choir kid?”

“Aw, thanks!” Stan said, sitting down next to him. “And no, I never had any lessons. I guess I just have a naturally good voice, combined with the fact that I sing all the time.” Or, at least he had. Stan hadn't sung in a long time, not since he'd ran away. He just hadn't been in the mood. Hadn't been motivated. It was hard to do things you enjoy when all you could think about were the problems you were running from.

“What are you talking about? I've never heard you sing anything!” David said, playfully punching him in the arm.

“Well now you have!” Stan said happily. “Maybe I'll sing you something else sometime.”

“Like right now? Do you know I Love Rock and Roll?”

“Know it?” Stan said laughing, “I drove my parents up the wall because I played it so much!”

Stan and Jimmy passed the guitar back and forth for a little bit, the rest of the group shouting out suggestions until Jimmy realized they were being very loud.

“Gotta be considerate of the neighbors,” he said, standing up. “I'm gonna go put this away.”

Slowly people began to leave, and finally, it was just David, Stan and Jimmy.

“Need a ride home?” Jimmy asked, noticing Stan's wide yawn.

“Aw, no, David can take me.”

“No he can't,” Jimmy said, raising an eyebrow. “My brother is staying here tonight because he is drunk off his ass.”

It was true. By the end of the night, David had drank quite a bit, and was currently lying down on the couch babbling about something.

“W-well, I could probably walk,” Stan said scratching the back of his head. 

“Do you even know how to get to your place from here?” Jimmy asked, putting a hand on his hip. “Look it's no sweat off my back.”

“I can find my own way--”

“What, don't want him to know you live out of a car?”

Stan's eyes grew wider than the plates that they had eaten off of tonight, and he slowly turned to see that David had stood up, and had a dopey grin on his face, a beer dangling from his hand.

“ _David_!” Stan hissed. “You...I told you not to...”

“You live out of a car?” Jimmy said incredulously.

“Yes, okay? I live out of my car!”

Stan thought that Jimmy might make fun of him, but instead, his friend pushed past him, and stood nose to nose with David, his face contorted in fury.

“Are you not paying him a living wage?”

It was at this moment that David realized his mistake.

“What? No, I'm--”

“Is Leah homeless too?”

“No, I've been to her house, I know she has--”

“So why the fuck,” Jimmy said, attempting to keep his voice under control, “Is Stanley homeless?”

Stanley. He had said Stanley. Now he knew for a fact that Jimmy was pissed, this was the first time he'd ever heard him use his full name. David peeked over at Stan from behind Jimmy's shoulder, and the two locked eyes. Slowly, Stan shook his head, indicating that David was not to tell him about his drug use.

“I don't know! I don't control what he spends his money on!”

Jimmy spun around, this time his fury focused on Stan. “What the fuck are you spending your money on that you can't have even the shittiest of apartments?”

“N-nothing, I just...”

“You just _what_?” Jimmy said, advancing towards him. “Do you like living out of your car? Is that why you're not saving your money?”

His words felt like a punch in the stomach. “No I don't like living out of my car!” Stan said hotly. “Who the hell would? It's just...it's easier, it's less expensive, I have more money for...for other things.”

“I won't allow it.”

Stan blinked at Jimmy. “What do you mean you won't allow it?”

“I won't allow my friends to be homeless! I won't allow my friends to put themselves in dangerous situations!”

“Dangerous...what do you mean dangerous situations?” Stan said. “I'm completely safe!”

Jimmy let out a harsh laugh. “You serious? You think living in a car, in New York City, is completely safe? One of these days someone is going to break in and fuck you up.”

“Oh whatever!” Stan said, balling his fists. “You're just...you're jumping to worst case scenarios! I've been fine so far!”

Jimmy flared his nostrils, and closed his eyes instead of looking at Stan.

“He could...he could move to a shelter,” David said, attempting to help.

“There's problems with that too,” Jimmy said, eyes still shut. 

“Well what do you want to do, Mr. I-won't-allow-Stan-to-live-his-life?” Stan said angrily. Jimmy's eyes flew open, and they flashed with anger.

“Fine!” he said. “Fine! Live out of your car, see if I care! There's the door, find your way back!” Jimmy said, and pointed towards the door, but Stan did not move.

“You do care though,” he said. “It's obvious that you care, it's obvious that for some goddamn reason you need me to change how I'm living my life!”

Jimmy breathed out hard through his nose, and turned away from Stan.

“David, maybe he could stay with you.”

“There's barely enough room for me in there,” David said with a snort. “No way.” 

Silence filled the room, the air thick with tension. Finally, David broke the silence.

“He could stay with you.”

Jimmy turned and looked at his brother as if he had suggested that Stan go live with a serial killer. “With me?”

“Yeah, why not? What do you think Stan?”

“David can we talk in the other room?” Stan said hoarsely. 

Stan and David walked into the music room, and once the door was closed, Stan rounded on him.

“In case you've forgotten, your brother doesn't approve of...you know.”

“Drugs?”

“Yes.”

“Look, you'd probably crash on the couch. Just hide them under a cushion or something, he won't notice.”

“Yeah but what if he does?”

David shrugged. “Then he'll kick you out and you can live in your car again. Are you really telling me you wouldn't like to have an actual roof over your head?”

They went back out and rejoined Jimmy, who was standing with his arms crossed, a deadly look on his face. A few more words were spoken, and it was decided that Stan would be Jimmy's new roommate.

“But not forever!” Jimmy said, pointing a warning finger. “You can be here until you save up enough to get a place, okay? So whatever frivolous trash you're buying that's keeping you in a car, you'd better stop it right now.”

Stan slept with David on the couch that night, and in the morning, Jimmy drove Stan to the coffee shop to get his car. 

“This is your home?” Jimmy mumbled, and Stan could hear pure sadness in his voice.

“Yeah,” Stan said, unlocking the door and getting in. “I'll follow you back, okay?”

As David had expected, Stan lived on the couch. But instead of hiding his drugs under the cushion, Stan slit a hole in the side of one, and placed the drugs inside of it. This way, he was positive Jimmy wouldn't find them.

Living with his friend turned out to much different than he had originally thought. Stan had been worried that Jimmy would come onto him while he stayed there, but in actuality, he was the perfect gentleman. In fact, it was a bit like living with a parent. Jimmy was constantly checking to make sure that Stan was putting money into his savings account, and had even started the apartment search for him.

At first, Stan had tried to stop using so that when he told Jimmy he was saving up, he wouldn't be lying. But it was impossible. Without the drugs, nothing was right, he couldn't even function, couldn't even stand up. Stan found that he wasn't getting high anymore. The rush was gone, but the drugs did their job, making life bearable, making it so that he could do basic functions.

Sneaking around Jimmy was harder than Stan would've liked, but not impossible. Slowly, he began to wonder what would happen if he just took one giant dose. Maybe that would tide him over for the day _and_ night. If it worked, he wouldn't have to do it twice a day, which would make things much easier on him.

“Hey, I'm going to go grocery shopping, okay?” Jimmy said one day. Stan was in the kitchen composing his newest letter to Ford. He still hadn't gotten any replies, but whatever, he would keep writing until he got one.

“Yeah okay,” Stan said. His hand was beginning to get sore, and he couldn't wait for Jimmy to leave so he try out his new idea. As soon as he was gone, Stan went over to the couch, pulled out his drugs, and got himself ready. He'd double the dose. That would be fine, right? I mean, he did this amount in one day anyway, so doing it all at once would be a-ok.

As per usual, there was no rush, but he felt so tired. So slow. He put his paraphernalia away, and lay down on the couch. All he wanted to do was nap. All he wanted to do was

* * *

God the grocery store had been a mad house. Jimmy was glad to finally be home. He rode the elevator up to his floor, thinking about Stan. He had found a pretty cheap apartment in the newspaper, and wanted to see how Stan's savings were looking. Maybe they could go check it out, see if it would be something he would like. 

When he reached opened the door to the apartment, the first thing he noticed was that it was extremely quiet. The next thing he noticed--

“Oh my god.”

Jimmy didn't bother setting the groceries down, he just dropped them and ran over to the couch. Stan was lying on the couch, head lolling to one side. His eyes were closed and his lips and fingernails were turning blue. He shook Stan slightly. “Stan? Stanley?”

Nothing.

“Stanley ANSWER ME!” Jimmy said, his voice hitching and he shook Stan harder. When nothing happened, he ran over to the kitchen and grabbed for his phone, nearly dropping the receiver in his panic. Jimmy dialed fast, his heart pounding so loudly that the blood in his ears was the only thing he could hear.

“911 what is your emergency?”

“Something is wrong with my roommate. I...I came home and he's...he's passed out, and turning blue and...fuck, please send someone I don't know what's wrong.”

“Has he been using any drugs?”

“I...don't think so, no? I mean, anything's possible...” Jimmy said unhelpfully. There was no way Stan was using. No way. But he had been hanging out with Thistle...and David was a dealer, and...

And he'd been homeless.

He had a steady, semi-well paying job but was living out of his car.

_“I don't control how he spends his money!”_

No.

“Could I get your address, and the name of your roommate?”

Jimmy hurriedly gave them the information they needed, hung up the phone and sat down next to Stan. He gently put one of Stan's hands in his and squeezed it.

“Don't you fucking die on me,” Jimmy said, choking back a sob. “Don't you fucking do it.”

In what seemed like seconds, the condo was full of paramedics. They had a stretcher with them, as well as bunch of equipment, and Jimmy vaguely wondered what it was for.

“Okay,” one of the men said, crouching down next to Stan, “Let me see...yep, alright, Tom, can I have the Narcan?”

“What's Narcan?” Jimmy asked in a choked voice.

“It looks to me like your friend here having a heroin overdose,” the EMT said, as if this was no big deal. “Narcan is--”

“He is not!” Jimmy said, and felt tears sting at the corners of his eyes. “It's something else, it's not heroin, he's _not_ a drug addict!”

The EMT patiently waited for him to finish, and calmly continued as if Jimmy hadn't interrupted. “Narcan is a drug that will reverse the effects of an opiate overdose.”

“He's not overdosing!” Jimmy insisted, his voice raising. The EMT speaking to Jimmy, and the one named Tom exchanged pitying glances. 

“If he's not overdosing,” the EMT said gently, “The Narcan will have zero affect on him. It won't do anything at all. But if he is, it'll bring him back.”

Jimmy could only stand and watch as they squirted the drug up his nose. Then, they attached a ventilator over his mouth and nose.

“W-what are you...?”

“The drugs are shutting down his respiratory system. He's going to need some help until the Narcan kicks in,” one of the paramedics said. They began to work on Stan, massaging his chest and calling his name. This went on for about five minutes.

“Why isn't he waking up? You said this would help! He must not be--”

“Give it a few more minutes,” the EMT named Tom said gently. “He'll come to.” Tom turned back to Stan and said “Come on buddy, open your eyes! Okay, I think we're going to need to breathe for him.”

It only took a couple more minutes before Stan's eyes flickered open. The emergency workers seemed to sigh in relief as one, while the men closest to Stan helped him sit up.

“Hey there Stanley,” one of them said in soothing tone of voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Why are you...who are you...?” 

“You just had an overdose, and we're gonna need to take you to the hospital okay?”

“No, I was just...I was asleep,” Stan said groggily.

“Okay,” the EMT said. “let's get you onto the stretcher.”

“I don't need a hospital,” Stan argued as they stood him up on shaky legs. “I told you, I was...I was just asleep.”

Jimmy numbly watched as the paramedics calmly explained to Stan what had happened and loaded him onto the stretcher. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. Stan...a junkie? Fuck, he was going to kill Thistle. No, first he was going to kill his brother. Then he was going to kill Thistle. And then, Stan was going to get a tongue lashing.

“Mr. Snakes?”

Jimmy looked up, and saw Tom standing in front of him. “Are you planning on coming to the hospital with Stanley?”

“Yes,” Jimmy said, emotionless.

“You can ride in the ambulance if you like, or you can follow us.”

“I'll follow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy's interaction with the EMTs brought to you by my actual life. My mom straight up refused to believe my dad was using, and the EMTs actually did give her a weird pitying look, and then they administered the Narcan and it was just like oh. Guess you guys know what's up better than us. Unfortunately he was totally alone for his second OD.
> 
> This is the first and last time we get to see Jimmy's POV, just in case you were wondering.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn sorry this took so long, it wasn't even the writing that was the problem it was just me doing other things. BUT IT IS HERE NOW. Also, just...heads up. I'm gonna stop tw drug use and drug mention because I mean, if you're this far in, you know by now that it's a big part of the story. (also fun fact because why not the club mentioned in Ford's section is named after a real place in my hometown)

Even though Ford wanted to go out with friends, actually doing it was a terrifying prospect. He'd disappointed Fiddleford on a thousand occasions, (“Seriously? You bought an outfit for this and you're not coming?”) but his roommate did not give up. Parents didn't contact you to let you know if you're going home for Thanksgiving or not? Why don't you come celebrate with us? I know you don't celebrate it, but there's a Christmas party coming up that you really shouldn't miss, and it might help you feel better about not having Stan with you this year...no? Okay, well there's a New Years one that Johnathan just got invited to, you should totally come to that.

However, each and every time, Ford declined. This time however...this time he couldn't say no. It was Fiddleford's 19th birthday, and Ford had been invited to hang out. How awkward would it be to decline the invite when Fiddleford knew for a fact that Ford had literally nothing else to do?

But even so, his roommate had to grab him by the wrist and pull him out of the dorm room to head to the party. Fiddleford had insisted on Ford wearing the jeans and cardigan he had bought months ago to go clubbing, and had never worn.

“Come on, it could be my birthday present.”

“Your birthday present is me wearing tight jeans?”

“Don't make this weird, Ford.”

So, very nearly against his will, Ford found himself walking with a group of jovial men to what Johnathan called the best gay club in all of town. Well. The best one that under 21s could go to anyway.

Johnathan did the introductions, and Ford finally got to meet the man Fiddleford had wanted to set him up with, Ollie. Like Ford, he was tall and lanky, and had a nervous expression on his face. The whole group had rushed ahead so that Ollie and Ford would have to walk together, something that Ford did not appreciate.

“So,” Ollie said, clearly trying to break the tense silence, “Where are you from?”

“How'd you guess I'm not from around here?” Ford asked sarcastically, making a valiant attempt to shove his hands into his pockets. “Was it my awful accent that gave it away?”

“It's not awful,” Ollie said, sounding as if Ford's response had made him a little uncomfortable, “You don't have to answer if—”

“New Jersey,” Ford said, talking over him. 

“Oh, where in?”

“If you've heard of it, I'll give you fifty bucks,” Ford said, looking over at Ollie. “Glass Shard Beach.”

“I uh...no, never heard of it. What a weird name for a beach.”

“That's cause it's accurate,” Ford said, grimacing. “But my brother found a stretch where the glass to sand ratio was favorable, so we'd always go hang out there. Lotta cool glass art though.”

“I bet!” Ollie said with a smile. “Was it cool living in a beach town?”

“No, beach culture is weird,” Ford said, deciding to quit attempting to put his hands in his too tight pockets. “I don't know how to explain it, it's just...I dunno, people aren't as nice as you'd hope them to be.”

“Sounds like _everywhere,_ ” Ollie said. “My town was no different, and I didn't live anywhere near a beach.”

“And that would be...?”

“Born or raised?”

“Um,” Ford said, not expecting that response, “how about both?”

“Born in Budapest, raised in Topeka.”

“Wait, that's in Kansas, right?”

“Yes?”

“Why,” Ford said, confusion on his face, “Did your parents immigrate to _Kansas?_ ”

“Hey, don't shit talk Kansas!” Ollie said, but he had a huge grin on his face. “That's where my dad found work, so that's where we went.”

“Do you speak Hungarian?” Ford asked, hoping it wasn't a dumb question.

“Only with family. Actually, that's the only language I speak with my parents now, unless we have guests over who don't speak it.”

“What do you mean, now?” Ford said, finding himself interested in Ollie. He had thought speaking to him would be a nightmare, but he found the man easy to talk to, maybe even someone he'd like to be friends with.

“Well they didn't want me to start school not knowing a single word of English, so I learned the languages side by side. At school, they obviously didn't speak any Hungarian, it was just English. So for practice, my parents would let me speak some English at home, but not a lot. They did this for a while, until it became obvious that I no longer needed any help. After that, we didn't speak English at home unless I had friends over. But now, since I'm not at home, any letters sent to them or phone calls, it's all in Hungarian. _Especially_ the letters,” he said groaning.

“You don't like writing?”

“I don't like writing _in Hungarian,_ ” Ollie said. “Never got much practice, so now my parents are all over it. 'You need to learn! It's your heritage! What if you want to send letters to your grandma? We can't write about your college experience!' Drives me insane. Trust me, writing and reading a language is very different from just speaking it. Oh, we're here.”

The name of the club, CC's, was in big, bright, neon letters over the entrance to the club. The calm that Ford had felt while talking to Ollie evaporated, and he was a bundle of nerves all over again. The group walked in, everyone except for Ford seeming very excited.

Upon entering, Ford was completely overstimulated with the strobe lights, and deafening music playing. To his left was a sectioned off area with a sign that said “NO MINORS” in big red block letters.

“What are you doing?” he heard Fiddleford shout, alerting him to the fact that the group was on the dance floor and he was standing stock still at the front door. “Come on! Get out here!”

Ford refused to move, and Fiddleford rolled his eyes, and pulled him out on the floor, before joining his boyfriend. What the hell was he supposed to be doing? Dancing, yes, but...how did one dance?

“Never been clubbing before have you?”

It was Ollie, standing next to him with a sympathetic look on his face.

“No,” Ford admitted. “Do you go a lot?”

“Oh _fuck no!_ ” Ollie said with a laugh. “At least not as much as Johnathan and the rest of my friends. Only reason I'm here is because I desperately needed a study break.”

“You study a lot?” Ford asked, suddenly feeling like he might have met a kindred spirit.

“Well yeah!” Ollie said. “Look,” he said, and drew a circle in the air with his pointer finger, to the far left in front of him. “This is studying.” Then, he drew a second circle in front of him, but this time to the far right. “And _this_ is partying all the time. See how they don't meet up?” Ford laughed at this, and Ollie smiled. 

“I'm here on a scholarship,” Ollie said, “and they won't look to kindly on me if my grades slip. So, I indulge myself every once in a while...but I'm not like Johnathan. His family is old money, and is paying out of pocket like it's no big deal. So he can do whatever, they honestly don't care.”

“Wait are you serious?” Ford said, eyebrows nearly flying off of his face. “I had no idea!”

“Yeah, well...” Ollie said shrugging. “Guess you learn something new every day. Now come on, let's dance!”

“I...I don't know _how._ ” Ford said, a slight whine to his voice, following Ollie further out onto the dance floor.

“It's not that hard, just wiggle your butt!” Ollie said, and hip bumped Ford. He had not been expecting this, and nearly fell over. Ollie laughed, and Ford stuck his tongue out at him as if they were five years old.

“Come on, I'll dance with you!”

“Uh...well, I don't really want to...” Ford said awkwardly, and looked over at Fiddleford and Johnathan. They were dancing in such a way that was almost obscene. It was kind of hot actually, two incredibly attractive men dancing like that, but it also kind of grossed him out a bit. And there was no way he would dance like that with anyone.

Except Stan.

Oh hell yes he would dance like that with Stan!

In their room, with the door locked, and the blinds closed, with nobody around to hear the music.

Ollie followed his gaze and snorted so hard that it sounded painful. “I'm not saying we practically fuck on the dance floor, or even touch each other at all. I'm saying we _dance_ together.”

“Well what do I...?”

“Just...feel the music! Move to the beat, and if you're off beat, who the hell cares? Do what feels right, _have fun._ Dancing is not complicated.” 

This was the most unhelpful advice Ford had ever received in his entire life.

“Yeah but I don't want to look dumb!” Ford said, slightly upset.

“You're a white guy with no dancing experience, you're going to look a little dumb. But again, who the fuck cares? All that matters is that you're having fun.”

It was a little bit strange how much Ollie sounded like Stan. That was the exact thing that Stan would've said, and wasn't hard to picture his brother giving him the words of encouragement. So Ford sucked his bottom lip into his lungs, closed his eyes, and began to move. His strange, anxious facial expression soon vanished as he realized that he was having fun.

Dancing was _fun._

Shit, why hadn't he done this before? He knew he looked stupid, but so did Ollie, and Ollie didn't seem to care. So why should he? And nobody was pointing and laughing, everyone was just concerned with having a good time. He did shoot down quite a few men who wanted to dance with him, and the fact that someone saw him and thought yes gave him a bit of an ego boost. Ford had never really thought of himself as attractive before. He always considered himself as the downgraded version of his brother, but tonight? Tonight he felt like the hottest guy in California.

The next time he saw Stan, they _had_ to go dancing. The feeling between him and Ollie was amazing. The pure happiness exchanged between them was wonderful. What would it be like with Stan? It would be ten times better, he knew it, even if they wouldn't be allowed to touch, even if they had to dance with space between them, it would be electric. God, he wanted that so badly. 

When Fiddleford tired of dancing, the decision was made to go to the cheapest all night sushi bar that they could find. And maybe it was because he'd worked up an appetite from all that dancing, but Ford found himself loving the sushi. 

“Dare you to eat a ball of wasabi.”

“Fuck you Ollie, I'm not an idiot,” Ford said, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, _half._ ”

“No!”

When they were finally done with the night, Ollie and Ford made plans to have a study hang out the next day. Fiddleford had a smug look on his face all the way up to the dorm, one that Ford did not like one bit.

“Someone hit it off with Ollie,” Fiddleford said as Ford pulled off his cardigan and grabbed a comfortable t-shirt to wear to bed.

“Yeah, he seems like he'd make a great friend.” Ford said.

“You say, having planned a study date.”

“It's not a date!” Ford said, lobbing his jeans over at Fiddleford. “We're hanging out! Because we're _friends!_ And friends hang out!” 

“Okay,” Fiddleford said, the smug look still on his face. “We'll see.”

“I am not going to date him or...or do anything else with him,” Ford grumbled, crawling into bed. He enjoyed Ollie's company, but that was all there was to it. Ford did not feel even a little bit of attraction to him. And even if he did...well he was very much attracted to Fiddleford, but he hadn't made a single move! He was a grown man, with plenty of self control. And the fact remained, he wasn't just attracted to his brother, he was in love. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with him, wanted to grow old with him, maybe even have a secret wedding! It wouldn't be legal of course, but they could still exchange rings.

And with that happy thought in his head, Ford smiled and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep.

* * *

“I don't need a hospital, I told you, I was just asleep!” Stan said as the EMTs loaded him onto a stretcher. He remembered that he wanted to take a nap, and logically, he must have done so. Why were these people trying to take him to the hospital? And if they discovered he had drugs in his system...what would they do? Would they call the police?

“You weren't asleep,” the paramedic said. “You were unconscious, and you weren't breathing.”

“I...not breathing?” Stan choked out.

“That's right,” the man said, wheeling him into the hallway. 

They spent the journey to the ambulance in silence, and when he was finally loaded in and the doors closed, Stan took a deep breath and asked the question that he was dreading the answer to.

“Who found me?”

“Your friend Jimmy.”

Aw _fuck._ That had been the answer he'd expected, considering nobody else had the key to the apartment, but _still._ Jimmy had found him, and he'd had to call the ambulance, he'd had to watch as they revived him. Jimmy, the one who had taken him in out of the kindness of his heart. Jimmy, the one so against drugs.

“I...okay,” Stan said, “I used...I used heroin.”

“Were you feeling depressed?” the paramedic asked.

“No,” he replied. “I...this is just what I...” Stan found he couldn't finish the sentence. This was just what he did. This was his life. God, he was a fucking drug addict! That was a term he didn't want to use to describe himself, it was just so dirty, so foul. Not something that was him. Stan was just a normal guy, not one of those weirdos wandering around with torn up clothes and their teeth falling out, eyes bloodshot and crazed.

But maybe...

Maybe normal people could be drug addicts.

“Have you had an overdose before?”

“No,” Stan mumbled. 

“Alright, well that's what happened today. You had an overdose, and we gave you some Narcan to wake you up.”

And then a strange sensation came over him. His eyes were closing...he was fading away again...and all he could hear was “Okay, we're gonna need to administer again, he's losing consciousness.”

He felt the medication up his nose, and then suddenly he'd descended into the pits of hell.

Stan cried out, and his bones were on fire, his hair was on fire, god every part of his body was making life impossible he was being stabbed and sliced open with a thousand dull blades his skin was being flayed god he wanted to die.

_Just let me die_

_Let it take me let it take me let the heroin take me it tried once let it do it again_

_Please_

_You don't feel anything when you die JUST LET ME DIE_

“It's going to be okay,” the paramedic said. “This will be over soon.” Stan just wanted to scream fuck you at him, this smug bastard didn't know he didn't know he DIDN'T KNOW.

And then the pain went away but at the same time it didn't it was there but his body wouldn't let him feel it. Was he in shock? Was this what going into shock was?

He spent the rest of the ambulance ride like this, and when he was wheeled out, Stan didn't even realize that Jimmy was there, walking quickly to keep pace with the paramedics. The only thing he was aware of, the only thing he could focus on was this weird state he was in, this strange balance between peace and agony.

When the pain finally ebbed away and he no longer felt like he was being tortured, Stan was able to take in his surroundings. He was hooked up to a machine, (what? when had that happened?) and a woman was standing above him, looking at said machine and scrawling something onto a piece of paper. What was she doing? It took him a few seconds to understand that she must be recording his vitals. And in a corner, sitting on a chair, refusing to look at him was...

Jimmy.

His red bandana was nowhere to be found, and his thick blonde hair was thrown up into the world's messiest bun. His lips were curled into a snarl, brows furrowed, and his eyes were bloodshot. 

“Jimmy?” Stan croaked out.

No response. Well, no _verbal_ one anyway. Jimmy's scowl deepened, and he crossed his arms and legs so tightly that Stan was positive they'd need a crowbar to undo them.

“Jimmy?” Stan tried again, but Jimmy kept his silence. It wasn't until the nurse left that he finally spoke.

“I should beat your face into a motherfucking _pulp,_ ” Jimmy said, voice shaking.

“What?” Stan said, surprised. Jimmy had never spoken to him this way before. He'd never heard such anger, such _hate_ in Jimmy's voice.

“You heard me!” Jimmy snapped, and finally looked at him. His crystal blue eyes flashed dangerously, and he looked like he might lunge forwards and grab Stan by the neck at any moment. 

“Do you think they're going to call the police?” Stan asked.

Jimmy let out the weirdest, loudest cackle that caused Stan to jump slightly. “That's all you care about? The police? Don't give a shit about me? Can't even say that you're sorry?”

“I'm sorry,” Stan said, a little too quickly, causing Jimmy to snort.

“Yeah. Right.”

“Hey!” Stan said, annoyed. “You said to say sorry!”

“Yeah, but I wanted you to mean it!” Jimmy snapped. “Wanted you to think about what you've done.”

“Well I mean, I know that what I did was bad, but--”

“BUT WHAT?” Jimmy practically screamed, frightening Stan. “YOU ALMOST DIED IN MY LIVING ROOM!

“I wasn't _trying_ to!”

“I don't care!” Jimmy shouted, spit flying, and he sprang to his feet. “I don't care what you meant to do! What I do care about is how little I mean to you! How little _anyone_ means to you!”

“You...you mean a lot to me Jimmy!” Stan said, shaken from Jimmy's outburst. “You're the best friend I could ever ask for.”

“Then why are you doing drugs? Why are you doing drugs _in my house?_ ” Jimmy wailed. 

“Doing drugs doesn't mean I don't care!” Stan said, feeling anger rise in his throat.

“Yes! Yes, yes it does!” Jimmy said, pointing a finger at Stan. “Using hard drugs...fuck, using _heroin,_ that's just a big fuck you to everyone you care about!”

Stan glared at him, unconvinced. “I care plenty.” Jimmy sighed dramatically and plopped back into his chair. He put his face in his hands, and after a few moments, looked back up.

“Can I ask you something?” Jimmy's voice was deadly calm, and somehow, this was worse than the screaming.

“Shoot,” Stan said.

“If you had died, do you know what would've happened?”

Stan blinked. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it wasn't that.

“Uh. I dunno, I'd be dead.”

“Yes Stan, congratulations, you've figured it out. If you died, you would be dead. Do you know what that would've meant for me?”

“N-no?” Stan said, unsure where this was going.

“First things first, I would have to call 911 so they could take you in and figure out how the hell you died. After it was established, I would have to contact David and let him know you'd passed. He would then have to tell Leah why she no longer has a coworker. After that, I would have to contact your parents. I would do this by phone. I'd have to call them up and let them know that their son had overdosed. Wouldn't that be fun?”

Stan looked away. “My parents wouldn't care.”

“Okay, let's go to fantasy land and pretend that's true, that they wouldn't care, and would laugh before hanging up on me. But do you know who would care? Your brother, another person that would need to be contacted. Would it be me doing it? Or your parents? I dunno. But imagine that. Imagine your brother getting that call. That his twin had died of a heroin OD.”

Oh god.

It felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest as images of Ford getting that phone call flooded his brain. Ford's big smile as he was...what, laughing at a great joke a friend had told? Picking up the phone, wondering who it could be...having a white knuckle grip on the reciever as Jimmy explained what had happened. Tears rolling down his cheeks...unable to do his school work...maybe having to drop out.

“After that,” Jimmy said, ignoring the look of horror on Stan's face, “Your parents would need to figure out what to do with your body. Would they have it sent back home? Probably. Then they'd have to decide on if they wanted to do a casket burial or if they wanted to have you cremated. Either way is a fuck ton of money. They'd have to tell any friends or family back home what had happened, set up the funeral or memorial service, and then--”

“Stop it!' Stan said. He didn't want to hear any more, but Jimmy kept going, ignoring his pleas.

“--Then, they'd bring your brother back home for the service. Can you imagine your parents crying over your body? What about your brother, weeping, sobbing--”

“SHUT UP!” Stan yelled, gripping the provided hospital blankets hard. “Don't you speak like that, don't you talk about my brother!”

“I'll talk about your brother all I want!” Jimmy fired back. “You need to know! You need to be fucking aware that there are consequences to your actions! You can't just blunder through life assuming that you can do whatever the hell you want! You didn't think about _any_ of that, did you? Do you fucking see why I said you don't care? It's because you DON'T! You're only thinking about yourself, your next fix, that's it, that's all! Fucking junkie, I can't believe I even let you into my house!”

“You don't get it!” Stan said, hot, angry tears rolling down his face. “I'm not a junkie, or a partier or whatever! I don't feel normal anymore! I don't feel like a person! I can't function without it, I have to have it, or it feels like I'm dying! I don't even get high, Jimmy! My body doesn't even work if I don't have it!”

Jimmy's gaze did not soften, and he gave Stan a critical look. “Well if that's true, you're going into treatment. 'M already paying for your hospital stay, _you're welcome,_ so I guess I can pay for you to what, feel normal again?”

“No, I can't not have the heroin, I can't not--”

“Fine! I'll call your family up ahead of time, to let them know their son is gonna be a was soon enough!”

“Don't!” Stan said, horrified. “Don't you dare call them, don't you dare tell them!”

“Why not? If you won't listen to me, maybe you'll listen to them. Maybe you'll listen to them begging, pleading you to get clean. I know your brother would tell you to. His opinion clearly means more than mine,” Jimmy said bitterly.

“Jimmy, I already told you, I can't function without--”

“Yeah, I fuckin' heard you.”

There was a long, angry silence between them, only broken when the doctor came in. She was a short, curvy brunette, with startling green eyes, and a smile on her face.

“Hello, I'm Dr. Avison,” she said, turning to face Stan. “So, Mr. Pines, your vitals are looking good, but before I discharge you, I'd like to--”

“Discharge me?” Stan said surprised. “It hasn't been that long.”

“Well, your vitals are right where they should be, and you seem like you're able to speak okay.” she said, looking at him with a gaze that made Stan feel like she was x-raying him, “But I am going to need to make sure you're able to walk. After that, we need to discuss your options.”

“You're not calling the police?” Stan said, ignoring everything she had said. Dr. Avison gave him a small, sad smile.

“No, Mr. Pines, we're not calling the police. That is not our job. Our job is to care for you. And once you are cared for and ready to leave, we will discharge you. You will not be arrested.”

A huge wave of disbelief and gratitude washed over him. Stan had been sure that this was going to end in his arrest, but no. He was going to get to go home.

“Now, if you would,” she said, approaching him and holding out her arm, “I'd like to see if you can walk on your own.”

Stan gripped her arm and stood up shakily, but found that once she requested he let go, he was able to move around just fine. Dr. Avison seemed pleased with this, and asked him to sit back down on the bed. 

“Now, Mr. Pines, at the moment, you have a few options. Before I get into them, I would like to let you know that I have written you a prescription for Narcan which you can pick up at the pharmacy. That way, if you were to have a second overdose, the person that hopefully would be with you could administer the drug before calling 911, giving you an even better chance of survival. Now, on to your options. The first one is that we can put you in contact with a methadone clinic, or you can go to a inpatient treatment center. Your next option is to simply leave. As a doctor,” she said crisply, “I must recommend that you go into treatment, however, I cannot force you to do so.”

“What's methadone?” Stan asked, confused.

“Like heroin, it is an opiate,” Dr. Avison said. “However, it is nowhere near as destructive. It will help with your withdrawal symptoms. It will also help to get rid of your cravings for heroin. Combined with therapy, it is very effective.”

Stan glanced over at Jimmy who was giving him a murderous stare. He swallowed hard, and looked back over at the doctor.

“I...I'll do the methawhatever thing. The clinic.”

“Okay,” Dr. Avison said. “On your discharge form, I'll put in the notes a list of clinics that I think are some of the best, and you can go from there. I suggest you get signed up as soon as you possibly can.”

She left the room after that and Jimmy sighed deeply.

“What?” Stan asked.

“This isn't cheap,” Jimmy said. “You're not under my insurance, and you can't just add friends to your plan. I have to pay for this out of pocket, Stan.”

“Nobody's making you,” Stan said, glaring at him.

“Somebody has to pay for your ambulance ride and your stay here,” Jimmy said. “And you have to go into treatment, so someone is going to have to pay for that too. And it sure as hell isn't gonna be you! You don't even have two pennies to rub together.”

“Thanks for paying,” Stan mumbled after a while.

“You're welcome,” Jimmy said. “But we're gonna get you a job, and fast, so you can help me out.”

“I have a job!” Stan said.

“No you don't,” Jimmy said, glaring at him. “You do not have a job.”

“I work for your brother.”

“Not anymore,” Jimmy said, standing up. “You get your drugs from him don't you?”

Stan didn't say anything, but the look on his face told all.

“Yeah, you're done at Alma's. Not a good idea to hang out with someone who will only enable you, and probably get you hooked on drugs again.”

In what seemed like no time at all, Stan was discharged. The two men picked up his prescription, and walked out to the parking lot.

“Took your car, hope you don't mind.” Jimmy said unnecessarily as they approached the Cadillac. Stan looked at it fondly. It had originally been his mother's, but she had given it to him as 16th birthday present. It was the one time he really felt appreciated and loved by his parents.

“No, it's cool,” Stan said. “Why did you take it?”

“'Cause this way I can actually talk to you while we drive home.” Jimmy said, unlocking the doors and getting in.

Stan gulped. Was he gonna get another talking to?

“What do you want to talk about?” Stan asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

“Your friend, Thistle Downe. We need to have a long talk about him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THREE THINGS:
> 
> Narcan revives patients, and makes it so the heroin can't access the receptors it normally does. However it does not get rid of the drugs in the system! So the heroin CAN COME BACK and attack your body again. Higher dosages of Narcan can make you feel withdrawal symptoms, but worse. For a lot of addicts, they would rather die than go through that. So if you're wondering what the hell happened to Stan in the ambulance, there's your answer. 
> 
> Also, you may be thinking: “Mahi, why did you skip the winter holidays? I wanted to see them!” As fun as that would've been, I actually hate writing holiday celebration scenes because I have this weird need to make it super accurate and detailed and tbh celebrating thanksgiving and hanukkah were not high on my list of Things I Need To Cover in the story. So my thought process ended up being “lmao gonna skip over this and then talk about what happened later because i'm a lazy jerk.” In case you were curious, you will get to find out what Stan's holidays were like as well in the next chapter. 
> 
> And the last thing! It's been Sad Hour over here, but do not worry, things get better! I think the next chapter will convince you of this.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if this chapter had a name it would be: Jimmy Tells A Horrifying Story
> 
> And unfortunately, I have to TW it for mentions of gun violence and death. It isn't graphic, but you should know ahead of time. Jimmy's tale is rough. It doesn't go on for that long, but I just want you to get ready.

Today was the day. Ford was, after an awkwardly long time, going to read his letters. He had quite the stack, most of them from Stanley. The only reason he was reading them was because Ollie had been appalled to learn that not only was Ford not contacting home, he was actually ignoring all of the attempts his family had made to contact him.

“Worst. Son and brother. Ever.” Ollie had said, rolling his eyes.

So here he was, at Ollie's apartment, (“You have your own place? Wow!”) letters in hand. He'd read the letters, get started on his homework, and then maybe think about writing some responses.

“Which one are you going to go for first?” Ollie said, starting in on his neuroscience homework.

“Think I'll start from the first one sent and work my way down.”

The first letter was from his parents and was very typical. How are you doing, hope school is going well, blah blah blah. But there was one striking bit to the letter, and that was the small sentence that read “things are very stressful here at home.” Why would things be stressful? Why weren't they telling him what it was? Maybe it wasn't important enough to mention. Ford shrugged it off, and moved on to the next letter, one from Stan.

_Hey Sixer! Hope you're doing awesome at your nerd school. You probably noticed that I'm sending this from NYC--_

What?

Ford grabbed the envelope and looked at the return address. It was not from home, as he'd assumed. It was from somewhere in New York City.

_\--which probably threw you off a bit! Well, I left home because I wasn't doing something right, and you know how Pa gets when I mess up. It turns into the goddamn Armageddon. As usual, some bad stuff happened, so I decided I was done with that shit, and now I'm here!_

Ford set the letter down and began ripping the other letters from his parents open, and scanned them quickly. Not one of them mentioned that Stan was not at home. The only possible clue was that in each one, they said things like “things are a bit hard over here” “home life is still a bit hectic” “hope things are better for you than they are for us!” But that was it. Was it not important to them that he was gone? Or...

Were they hiding it from him?

_I wasn't doing something right...you know how Pa gets...some bad stuff happened..._

Had they done something to Stan? Something they would have to mention if they told him Stan had gone? If they had done something very bad, it might be too hard to actually admit it, and they were hoping Ford would coax it out of them by alluding to it.

What the hell was going on?

“Ford? Ford? _Stanford Pines!_ ”

Ford looked up and saw Ollie looking at him with an alarmed expression on his face. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Ford said. “Do you have a phone? Can I use it?”

“Yeah, it's just over there...what's wrong, what's happened?”

Ford stood up, but didn't answer him, instead making a beeline towards the phone. Ollie kept peppering him with questions as he dialed his home phone number, and only stopped when Ford put the receiver to his ear.

“Hello, Pines residence!”

“So when the hell were you going to tell me?”

There was a stunned silence on the other end before his mother said “Stanford is that you?”

“Yes, Ma.” Ford said, angrily twirling the phone cord on his index finger. “When were you going to tell me about Stan?”

“What do you...?”

“Don't play dumb!” Ford said, furious. “I got a letter from Stan saying something went wrong at home and—”

“You've heard from Stan?” she said, gasping. “How is he?”

“I dunno? Fine I guess? Look, he told me that something went wrong at home and that dad had...I don't even know, but Stan had to leave. When were you going to tell me that Stan wasn't at home?”

“Stanford, honey, we didn't want to worry you. We thought, maybe next time we saw you...”

“When did he leave, Ma?”

“While I helping you move in.”

Ford was struck dumb for a full five seconds, but when he got his voice back, it was full of hate and anger. 

“ _August?_ That was seven months ago! Seven! Is that why you didn't have me over for the holidays? So I wouldn't know that Stan is gone?”

“Ford, sweetheart, I need you to calm down.”

“Don't you tell me to calm down!” Ford said, and began to pace as far as the cord would allow. Ollie was staring at him with wide, scared eyes, homework completely forgotten. He was clearly trying to guess what Ford's mother was saying, but it didn't really matter because what Ford was saying was bad enough.

“Your brother and your Pa got into an argument, and Stan decided he wanted to leave. We...we haven't heard from him at all which has been very worrying. I've been hoping to get a letter, or a call, or something but...but nothing has come. But if he sent you a letter, everything must be okay!”

“So wait, you thought something bad might've happened to him,” Ford said, deadly calm, “But that still didn't seem noteworthy to you? Didn't seem like something you might want to tell me?”

“Ford, we didn't want to--”

“I get it, okay? You didn't want to worry me. But I would've liked to have known! And what did they argue about anyway?”

“Oh just this and that,” his mother said airily. “Nothing important.”

“If it was important enough for Stan to run away, it's important to me.”

“Well, they were arguing about cleaning.”

“Okay let me get this straight,” Ford said, covering his eyes with a hand. “Stan ran away and hasn't contacted with you because of an argument about cleaning.”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

“ _Stanford Filbrick Pines you will not speak to me with such language!_ ”

“Look, I'm just saying that it sounds like something else happened!”

There was silence again, and Ford could practically see his mother chewing the side of her bottom lip.

“Ma what happened?”

Silence.

“Ma? Are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“Well what happened?”

Silence.

“Ma what did Pa do? _What did Pa do to my brother?_ ”

There was a choked sob on the other end of the line and Ford's heart stopped. His mother was not a crier. If she shed even a single tear, clearly something was very wrong.

“Your Pa...he hurt Stan, and Stan ran off before you Pa could try and fix it.”

“He hurt Stan?” Ford said in a hoarse voice.

“Sometimes when your father gets angry he...he forgets himself and--”

“What do you mean he 'forgets himself'?” Ford said, gripping the receiver tightly. “What did he do?”

Silence.

“What did he do Ma? Tell me!” Ford said in his best commanding voice.

“He hit him over the head with a plate.”

Ford slammed the receiver down, and a strangled cry issued from his throat. 

“Ford, what's wrong?” Ollie said, leaping off of the couch and running over to his friend.

“I'm going to murder my Pa,” Ford said, eyes welling with tears. “I'm going to kill him, I really am!”

“What happened?”

“He smashed a plate over my brother's head!” Ford said, anguished, looking directly into Ollie's eyes. “He hit him, and my brother ran away!”

“Oh god,” Ollie said, and wrapped Ford into a hug. “I know it sounds bad, but--”

“But what?” Ford said, shaking with anger. “What could possibly make this better?”

“Stan's been writing to you. Things can't be that bad, right? If he's managing to send you letters, he must be okay!”

“I guess,” Ford mumbled, leaning his forehead against Ollie's chest. “But my Pa...I just...how could he do this?”

“I dunno,” Ollie said, clearly not knowing what he supposed to be saying in this situation.

“Stan...he hurt Stan once before.” Ford said softly. “And I mean, it _hurt,_ it hurt real bad when he told me what Pa did, but I didn't take it seriously, I didn't...I didn't understand. I thought it was over.”

“I don't really think that sort of stuff really ends,” Ollie said slowly. “I think when a person is like that...it doesn't stop.”

“Parents aren't supposed to do that. Parents are supposed to be there to support and love you, not...not hurt you.” Ford said, and felt hot tears spilling from his eyes. “They were always there for me, Ollie, always! I just don't get...why wouldn't they be...why don't they care about Stan?”

“I'm sure they care about--”

“Then why is he the punching bag?” Ford said, pulling away from his friend. “There's no other explanation! They care about me more because I...I'm the one...I'm smarter,” Ford said guiltily. “Stan's always been...normal. When he actually applies himself, he's not bad at what he does he just never bothered because...”

“Because he felt inferior,” Ollie finished.

Ford looked like he was going to start crying. “Does Stan even have anywhere to stay? God, Ollie, I've been over here having fun, and he's been...he might be homeless!”

“I'm sure he's not homeless,” Ollie said consolingly. “The letters have a return address, right? And don't beat yourself up for having a good time! Being here and not having friends or doing things that make you happy...how exactly would that help your brother?”

“It wouldn't,” Ford admitted. “I just feel bad.”

“Do you think it would help to read the rest of Stan's letters?” Ollie asked gently, “He's sent so many, I'm sure he's been talking about his life.”

Ford nodded, even though he didn't really mean it. What if Stan only had sad, awful things to say? What if they were all pleas for help? But he was going to have to read them at some point. Ford let Ollie lead him by the hand over to the couch, and started in on the letters again. 

The first few letters were normal, and put Ford's mind at ease. Stan had a job, he had friends, and everything appeared to be fine. But as he went on, the letters started getting strange. The sentence structures were off, the handwriting was indecipherable, and the letters went off on long tangents that didn't make any sense. Was his brother really okay? Ford showed Ollie a few of them.

“Some of these sound like he was drunk or high when he wrote them,” Ollie said, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Stan isn't into that kind of stuff,” Ford said firmly. 

“Well, I don't know how to explain it then,” Ollie said, handing them back. 

Ford buried his face in his hands. What the hell was he going to do? 

But that was just it, there was nothing he could do. If he told his parents exactly where Stan was, he ran the risk of his father finding him and potentially harming him. And Ford couldn't afford to go to New York! How would he get there? Where would he stay? How would he eat? There was no way his parents would give him the funds. 

All he could do was write back, and pray that Stan was okay.

* * *

“What's your history with Thistle?” Jimmy asked, sticking the key into the ignition and turning it.

“Well the Readers Digest version is that I had a girlfriend, she ditched me for him, and then I ended up meeting up with him again and...he was the one who gave me drugs the first time.”

Jimmy swore, and glared at the steering wheel as if it had issued him deeply personal insult. 

“Should've known,” Jimmy said angrily.

“It was 'cause...remember how I told you my dad hit me with a plate? Well...I got a head injury and it hurt and he said that the heroin would help.”

“What a pal.” Jimmy said sarcastically, backing out of the parking space and driving out of the lot. “Really great friend.”

“I think he _thought_ he was doing a good thing,” Stan said defensively. 

“That wouldn't surprise me,” Jimmy said heavily. “Thistle never thinks he's doing anything wrong. Always has an excuse ready when some stupid thing he did goes south. Never wants to think that maybe, _just maybe,_ he fucked up.”

“What are you talking about?” Stan asked cautiously. 

“Did my brother,” Jimmy said, flicking on the blinker, “ever tell you why I hate Thistle?”

“Yeah, he said it's 'cause Thistle got him into drugs and you don't like that.”

For some reason, Jimmy started laughing. But it wasn't a happy laugh, it was weird, wild laugh that didn't sound like it should be able to come from a human's throat.

“No,” Jimmy said finally. “Well I mean, yeah kind of, but the real reason is that Thistle fucked up so bad that he destroyed my life, and it ended in a death.”

“What?” Stan said, shocked.

“Yep.”

“Is it story time?” Stan asked, finding himself extremely curious. Jimmy sighed.

“No. The point is that I want you to stay away from Thistle, got it? He's dangerous. I don't care if you like him, I don't care if you think he's the best thing that's ever happened to you. He has no regard for human life. He couldn't care less if anyone, even the people he calls friends, lives or--”

“No, back up Jimmy. You can't just say something like 'and then it ended in death' without explaining yourself! Could it please be story time?”

“What are you, five?” Jimmy said, turning his head and glaring at Stan. “Alright, once upon a time, Jimmy did not have to tell a terrible story, and he was very happy.”

“Do you not trust me?” Stan asked. 

“What?” Jimmy asked, thrown. “No, it's not about trust, not at all...it's just a really hard...it really fucked me up.”

“Maybe talking about it would help.” 

Jimmy narrowed his eyes at Stan and breathed out hard through his nose. “Alright, fine. David, Thistle and I grew up in the same town, and--”

“Where?”

“Interrupting me does not make me want to tell you the story.”

“I was just curious!” Stan said, putting up his hands in mock surrender.

“Valencia. It's in California, sort of near where your brother is right now. Anyway, we knew each other since we were kids. There was another one in our group, Karith. The four of us were inseparable. Well, as we grew up, Thistle started hanging with the “wrong crowd” or whatever the hell. Bunch a druggies. Nice people, actually, but a bunch a druggies. And we were young mind you, way too young to be into that shit.”

“How old?” Stan asked.

“13,” Jimmy said bitterly.

“Holy shit.”

“Right? Well, Karith had developed a crush on Thistle, and David and I thought that was cute. But it became less cute to me when she decided to do drugs to impress him.”

“Did it work?” Stan asked.

“Not in the romantic sense, no. But he was glad she was doing things that were cool to him.”

“How hard were the drugs?”

“Oh, it wasn't anything _bad,_ it was just weed. But the bunch of us were raised in very strict, very Christian households, so that kind of stuff seemed crazy bad. Wasn't until we hit high school that Thistle started getting his hands on harder drugs. Stuff like speed, ketamine, all sorts of shit that even now I have no idea how he managed to buy. Karith was still in the scene, and they started hanging out with fucking scary people, older people, much older...and bad things started happening to them! Bad things that Thistle just waved away. 'They were high, James, it wasn't their fault!' That's not a fucking excuse. I got into so many fights with him, telling him that if he didn't care about his own safety, he should care about Karith's, that he should be looking out for her...And then David started doing shit, and I just about lost my mind.”

“You said someone died,” Stan said. “Did Thistle...kill someone? Is that why you hate him?”

Jimmy was silent for a moment, which terrified Stan. Could Thistle have really committed murder? 

“Not in his mind. But in my mind, yes. See, Thistle's parents were out one night, and he wanted to have some friends over. So me, David, and Karith came, along with some weirdo fuck heads. And I had hoped that Thistle wouldn't do it, but nope, he had drugs with him. And everybody 'cept me started using. Started getting so fucked up that they weren't even themselves anymore, and I was scared, you know?”

Honestly, Stan couldn't imagine Jimmy being scared of anyone or anything, but he nodded in agreement.

“And Thistle's family had guns, and they were fucking idiots and not only made their kid aware of where the guns were, they put the goddamned ammo right next to the guns. And I guess Thistle wanted to show how big and bad he was and brought out a _loaded gun_ to a bunch of high teenagers, and showed it around, and they decided to set up some cans to shoot. I told them the neighbors would hear, but they just laughed at me. And I don't remember what was said once we got outside, but all I know was that an argument broke out and gunshot sounded and Karith was dead on the ground.”

Tears were falling thick and fast, and Stan very much regretted asking Jimmy to spill his guts. But his friend was on a roll now, and it seemed as though he couldn't stop, even if he'd wanted to.

“She was only 16,” Jimmy said, turning a corner. “And...I saw her fall. People fall surprisingly fast after getting shot in the head. I shoved past everyone, they were all panicking, and I ran to her, knelt down by her. Fuckin' face was ruined beyond all comprehension, and my knees were getting soaked with blood but I didn't care, all that mattered was that she was dead. And then the cops came, 'cause a neighbor had heard the gun shot and the kid that pulled the trigger was sobbing and admitted what had happened. Probably because he was so fucked up that he wasn't really thinking about if he should hide what he did or not."

Jimmy went quiet, and Stan wasn't sure if he should urge him to continue the story or not. Did he actually want to hear the rest? Just as Stan had made the choice to let Jimmy be, his friend started talking again.

"The kid was arrested," Jimmy continued. "Ambulance arrived, I guess they called her parents to get them to ID the body. No idea how they did that her fucking face...Funeral was awful. I mean she was just a kid!” Jimmy said, hitting the steering wheel with the flat of his hand. “My life nearly ended. I saw her everywhere. Had to go to therapy for a long time. And I fully blamed Thistle for her death. He was the one who loaded the gun. He was the one who handed it over. He was the one who got everyone high. Maybe he didn't pull the trigger, but the trigger wouldn't have even gotten pulled if it hadn't been for him. That's why I hate Thistle. Because of him my friend is dead. And when I saw you on the couch? It was like Karith all over again. I thought you were going to die, Stan. And when they were trying to tell me you'd been using...I didn't want to believe it. I couldn't lose another friend to that fucking world.”

“I had no idea.”

“Why would you?” Jimmy said. “Thistle wasn't gonna tell, he didn't think he did a single thing wrong. He didn't even seem sad back then. At the funeral he was just bored, looking at his nails, and afterwards saying 'they should've made that shorter' like he had better things to do than mourn his friend.”

“Does David agree with Thistle?”

“No. He agrees with me that Thistle had a hand in it. But he forgave him. For a while after, he tried to get me to do the same, but I couldn't, I can't. What's that saying...time heals all wounds? I don't think that's true. Every time I look at Thistle, or even hear about him, it's like it happened yesterday. I just...I can't forgive and forget. I stopped hanging around my brother for a really long time because of his attitude about it. The day I met you was the day I was planning on just...burying the hatchet with David.”

“Can I ask you something kind of unrelated?” Stan asked after a period of silence.

“That would be _amazing._ ” Jimmy said.

“How'd you both end up in New York, if you weren't speaking?”

“It wasn't that we weren't speaking, I just put distance between us. Not literally though, actually, David was the one to move. Thistle had dropped out of school shortly after Karith died, and ended up sending a letter to my brother, telling him he was in Jersey. So David decided he'd go to school there, so he could hang with his old friend. I told him not to, that I didn't think Thistle was safe, but he didn't listen. Ended up getting accepted to some school, decided to study business. I ended up going to school here in New York, but David and I didn't contact each other until recently.”

“What did you go to school for?” Stan asked. 

“Music.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Majored in guitar.”

Stan stared at Jimmy for a few seconds. “You can major in _guitar?_ ”

“You can at Juilliard.”

“You went to _Juilliard?_ ”

Jimmy smiled at this. “What's with the tone of surprise? Didn't sound good enough for you at my party?”

“No that's not...it's just that...not just any asshole can get into Juilliard!”

“Yeah, actually I was pretty surprised I got accepted,” Jimmy said, heading into the complex's parking garage, “But it felt like the universe was trying to put me back on track. See, Karith and I both had the dream of going to Juilliard. Her for dance though.”

“What kind of dance did she do?”

“Shit, what kind of dance _didn't_ she do?” Jimmy said, pulling into a space. “Hip-hop, modern, ballet, jazz, lyrical, tap, fuck she did everything. I actually tagged along with her to get her first pair of pointe shoes. Once she heard about Juilliard, she wanted to go, and she wanted me to go too, for music. Music, guitar especially, has always been a passion of mine. And it sounded like such a cool idea, going to school just for music? And she'd be there just for dance? What a dream that would be if we could just get in. But it also seemed impossible.”

“Do you play any other instruments?” Stan asked, getting out of the car.

“Well, I can also sing, I can kind of play piano, and I'm not bad on drums. But I'm strongest on guitar. I almost didn't apply, but I felt like Karith would've been disappointed with me if I didn't do it, and then I got an audition, and then I actually got accepted, and...it was incredible.”

“So wait,” Stan said, frowning, as they walked to the elevator, “If you went to school for music, why are you a mechanic?”

“Going to college, even to a really great one, doesn't guarantee you a job, especially in the arts. Doesn't mean you shouldn't go for it, it's just rough. One of my biker buds' dad had his own shop and let me work there. Ending up loving it, and decided to try and open a place of my own. Which is also not easy, but it ended up working out okay. I would rather be doing something with music, but it is what it is. Maybe someday.”

When they finally got into the apartment, Jimmy threw out his arm, blocking Stan's access.

“Where are your drugs?”

“What?”

Jimmy turned to him and gave him a look. “Don't insult my intelligence Stan, I know your drugs are in here, and I need to get them out.”

“In the right cushion on the couch.”

“In the—you didn't rip couch apart did you?” 

Stan gave him a guilty look, and Jimmy breathed out heavily. “You little punk. Is that all?”

“Yeah.”

“You promise me?”

“Yes!” Stan said, a hint of a whine to his voice.

“Okay, because if I find any more, I'm calling your parents and you can live with them. Now, you should probably go lie down. Rough day and all that. Take my room while I get rid of your shit.”

Jimmy's room was immaculate, something that Stan had not been expecting. He had a queen size bed with a dark red comforter, and quite a lot of throw pillows. Stan crashed onto the bed, and found it very easy to go to sleep. When he woke up, he was shocked to find that it was early in the morning. Jimmy was not in the room with him, which surprised Stan. He assumed that Jimmy would want to sleep in his own bed. Stan found Jimmy sleeping on the couch, so he tiptoed back to the bedroom, not wanting to wake and possible irritate his friend.

The rest of the day went terribly. His withdrawal symptoms set in, and Jimmy tried his best to make Stan comfortable while he rode them out. Jimmy also made the call to the clinic to set up a time for him to go in. After they got that squared away, the next thing on the list was to quit his job at Alma's. 

David was shocked and upset to discover that Stan was quitting, but it was much easier for Stan to leave when David tried to wave away the seriousness of what had happened to him.

“ODs happen all the time, they're not that big of a deal!”

Jimmy gave him the finger and ushered Stan out the shop.

There was no way Stan was even going to be able to think about work, not until he started on methadone. The days leading up to his first appointment were awful, but Jimmy stayed right there with him, and even drove him to all of his appointments.

Their dynamic had changed significantly. Jimmy started referring to Stan by his actual name, instead of just as kitten. The flirting had eased up, and he began to treat Stan like a regular friend, and not just as an object of his affection. And Stan was pretty sure this was due to Jimmy opening up about Karith. She seemed to have been quite a big part of his life. He shared with Stan songs he had written for and about her, finished up stories he'd previously refused to talk any more about, and finally answered Stan's question about his tattoo.

Back in December, Stan had been invited to celebrate the holidays with Thistle and David. Quite honestly, he couldn't remember most of what had happened, but he did remember a conversation they had had about Jimmy. Thistle had been complaining about how Jimmy had changed since the last time he saw him, that he was rough around the edges, with a heart made of stone. David had countered this by saying his brother was a huge softie and that his tattoo was proof of this. 

“He's got a ballerina on his back, what kind of hard ass would have ballerina back piece?”

Thistle had looked taken aback, and had quickly changed the subject. But this had interested Stan, so the next time he saw Jimmy, he asked him about it. Jimmy's face had turned to stone, and he refused to talk about it. When Stan had tried to tease him about having a dancer on his back, Jimmy had told him that it was getting late, and he needed to be back at his shop. Stan never asked him again and it wasn't until a couple of days after their conversation about Karith that Jimmy brought it up. Stan had asked what she looked like, and Jimmy had brought down a photo album.

She had been a pretty girl, with chestnut brown skin and blue black hair. He was flipping though the album when he came across a photo of Karith dancing. Stan was very impressed at what he saw. Her whole body was balanced on the tip top of one pointe shoe, as she pulled her other leg back towards her head.

“That's what my tattoo is,” Jimmy said from behind him, startling Stan.

“What?”

“You had asked about my tattoo months ago. I uh...never really forgot about that. It's her.”

Jimmy showed him the piece. It was all in black, and was skillfully done. Whoever had done it knew exactly what they were doing when it came to faces, it looked exactly like her.

“It's beautiful,” Stan said, as Jimmy put his shirt back on. 

“Thanks,” Jimmy said with a smile. “I got it for my birthday one year. Do you have any ink?”

“No,” Stan said, “I wanted to go get something with Ford for our 18th, but then he reminded me that we'd have to get money from our parents, who are very against tattoos, and he doesn't actually want anything. Maybe I'll get one someday.”

“You know, speaking of birthdays...” Jimmy said, rubbing his chin, “We need to talk about yours.”

Stan's birthday was next month, and he'd been very mopey about it. It would be his first birthday apart from Ford. He wasn't quite sure that he could handle that.

“Do we have to?” Stan said. “I don't want to think about it right now.” For some reason, Jimmy's face broke out into a wide grin.

“Well, if we don't talk about it, I can't tell you the awesome plans I made!”

Stan's eyes widened in surprise. “You made plans?”

“Well...kind of.” Jimmy said, shrugging. “I was going to fly out to California anyway, to visit my folks and Karith's grave...and then I thought maybe I could bring you down, maybe swing by Pasadena, visit your brother, see how he's--”

But Jimmy was cut off by Stan throwing his arms around him and squeezing him with all of his might.

“You would really do that?” Stan asked, arms still tight around his friend.

“Yeah, sure why not?” Jimmy said, giving Stan a gentle pat on the back. “And you know, the guy who did my tattoo down there owes me a favor so I bet you I could get him to do something for you. Nothing big or elaborate, just something small.”

“You're the best,” Stan said, but as his head was pressed against his friend's chest, he didn't get to see the blush and the wide smile that crossed Jimmy's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But oh! Valencia! With your blood still warm on the ground...Valencia! And I'll burn this whole city down...Valencia!  
> With your blood getting cold on the ground! Valencia! And I swear to the stars...I'll burn this whole city down." --O Valencia, by the Decemberists


	12. Chapter 12

Ford crumpled up the third attempt at his letter to Stan and threw it in the trash can next to his desk. Fiddleford made a noise behind him, but Ford ignored it. Fiddleford scoffing at him was not important. What _was_ important was getting this letter _perfect,_ and not having any mistakes in it.

“Maybe if you used a pencil, you would go through less letters,” Fiddleford suggested as Ford threw two more attempts away.

“I don't like pencils,” Ford said, starting over once again. “Pens are much better.”

“Okie-doke.” Fiddleford said, and went silent, allowing Ford to try again.

Ford finally managed to write a letter all the way through without crumpling in annoyance. He read it over, and wondered if he was over doing it a little bit. He was really trying to convey to his brother how much he loved and adored him, how much he missed him. A some parts were a little bit...well it wasn't sexual, he wasn't trying to write this letter like James Joyce would write his. But it definitely was not platonic. He felt a bit embarrassed writing something like this in front of another person, but it was also a bit exciting. Ford was writing what was practically a love letter to his own brother, and nobody but him knew it. Sure he was also speaking about his day to day life, giving as much detail as possible, but the other bits...He briefly wondered what it would be like to write something like this, or maybe even something sexy, in a public place like the library. He allowed his thoughts to wander for a minute before he got back to business. 

Folding up the piece of paper, he turned his attention to the two envelopes sitting next to him. The first one was the very last letter that Stan had sent. It had a different return address than the rest, and Ford assumed that meant that his brother had moved to a new location. Carefully, hewrote down the address down, and then put his own in the left corner. He picked up the stamp that had been next to the envelopes, and placed it in the other corner, trying to make it as straight and neat as possible. Only after all of that was done did he slip the letter inside and seal the envelope shut.

“There!” Ford said happily. “I'm done!”

“Only took you a few months to decide to write it, and three hours to actually do it,” Fiddleford teased. 

“It did not take three hours!” Ford said huffily. “It only took one.”

“I believe that _that_ is far too long to write what looks like a one page letter.”

“One page front and back!”

“Still way too long.”

“Well, whatever,” Ford said, standing up. “I'm going to go downstairs and mail it.” Ford exited the room, and headed to the elevator. As he pushed the button for the lift, he realized that he hadn't spoken about their birthday! Shit! He should've at least said 'happy early birthday' or something! But it was too late now, he didn't have a second stamp or envelope. And he also didn't want any more comments on how long it took him to write a letter. 

It would be fine. Stan would send one back right away, and Ford could talk about their birthday then. To be honest, Ford was not looking forwards to their birthday. Fiddleford had insisted on celebrating it, even if it just meant taking Ford out for coffee. 

“You might not be excited, but I'm not going to leave you alone to mope the entire day.” Fiddleford had said. “Let me do something, even if it's something very small.”

As Ford rode the elevator down, he wondered if his brother was feeling the same way that he was regarding their birthday. It would be their first one apart. No more racing to be the one to blow out the candles (with their mom saying in an exasperated tone 'just blow them out at the same time!'), no more running away from a laughing Stan who was trying to give him birthday pinches, no more arguing about who got the better presents. This year, there would be nothing. If he was lucky, he'd get a card from both Stan _and_ his parents, and Fiddleford would get him coffee or something. It wasn't exactly his ideal birthday. He wondered if Stan was going to celebrate with his friends. Thinking about his brother having a fun time on their birthday made Ford feel a bit lonely, and he hated himself for it.

Ford stepped out of the elevator and headed over to the wall that had the mailboxes. On the wall was a slot for outgoing mail, so Ford slipped his letter inside. There it went. Soon it would be on it's way to his brother. Ford hoped that his brother could forgive him for...for...God, Ford hated that he had to admit it, but he hoped Stan could forgive him for ignoring him. He'd tried to sugar coat it, to make himself seem better than he was. He had just been busy, he hadn't had any time. That sounded a lot better than ignoring. 

Ford headed back upstairs. Upon opening the door, Fiddleford immediately started speaking.

“Ford, we need to talk about something.”

“Sure, what would you like to talk about?” Ford asked, closing the door behind him.

“We need to talk about Ollie.”

Ford frowned slightly. “What about him?”

“I think you're leading him on,” Fiddleford said, a very serious look on his face. 

“Oh goddamnit!” Ford said, glaring at his friend. “For the last time, he and I are not-”

“Ford, the rest of us are seeing something that you aren't paying attention to. He brings you things that remind him of you. When you got sick that one time, he surprised you with homemade soup. He's constantly trying to hang out with you.”

“A friend,” Ford said, placing a hand on his hip, “Is fully capable of doing all of those things.”

“I know,” Fiddleford said. “But it's not just what he's doing, it's what you're doing.”

Ford blinked at him. “What do you mean, what I'm doing?”

Fiddleford ran a hand through his hair and bit the corner of his lip. “You're a huge flirt, Ford. Maybe you're not doing it on purpose but--”

“I do not flirt!” Ford said defensively, walking over to his bed and plopping down on it. “I have never once flirted with Ollie, or anyone else.” Hell, he hadn't even flirted with Stan. 

“But you do!” Fiddleford said earnestly. “You give him these little coy smiles, you always hang back to talk to him, you've even leaned your head on his shoulder a couple of times. Ford, you're giving him these messages and I think he's starting to get feelings for you.”

“Those...that's...that wasn't flirting!” Ford said, frustrated. “I'm just being friendly! And I'm not giving him...what did you say? Coy smiles?”

“All I'm saying,” Fiddleford said, “is to pay attention to how you interact with him. And maybe pay attention to how he interacts with you.”

“You guys are only seeing what you want to see,” Ford said, annoyed. “From the start, you wanted to set me up with him. It's like...the idea you have of what we should be is a round hole, but what we really are is a square peg, and you keep insisting that it will fit if you just try hard enough! But Fid, no matter how hard you try to force it, it's not gonna happen.”

“I'm not trying to force anything!” Fiddleford said. “I care about both you and Ollie and I don't want things to go south.”

“Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do,” Ford said. “But you're reading the situation wrong.”

Fiddleford sighed. “Well I hope you at least consider what I've told you. You're a smart guy Ford, but you aren't very observant.”

Ford scowled at his feet. As much as he loved his friend, he could be very interfering. There was no way Ollie could see him like that. Why would he? Ollie had plenty of people lining up to date him, there was no way he would pick _him._ Compared to all the people Ford had seen flirt with his friend, he wasn't particularly interesting or attractive. Fiddleford had no idea what he was talking about, and that was the end of that.

* * *

“Hey kitty-cat looks like you got some mail!”

Stan looked up from re-stringing one of Jimmy's guitars, confused.

“Who the hell is sending me mail at your address?” Stan asked.

“Your brother,” Jimmy said, looking at the return address. Stan's jaw nearly hit the floor.

“No shit?”

“I'm serious!” Jimmy said. “Wanna come read it?”

“Could you read it to me?” Stan asked, continuing to string the guitar. “I wanna finish this.”

“No problem,” Jimmy said, slitting it open, and pulling out the folded piece of paper. He opened it up and began to scan it, a confused look on his face.

“So are you going to read it to me or what?” Stan asked after a few seconds. 

Jimmy squinted at Stan and bit his bottom lip. He looked as though he was trying to decide if he should say something or not.

“Jimmy if you're not going to read it to me--”

“Are you dating your brother?”

Stan nearly dropped the guitar in surprise and felt the blood drain from his face. 

_“What?”_

“Well,” Jimmy said, peering at the letter, and walking over to join Stan on the couch, “I sent my brother a letter once, but...I um. I didn't begin it with “hey sweetie” or end it with “yours forever,” and I mean, the way he wrote it...it doesn't really read like a letter you'd send to a family member.”

Stan focused on a spot on the floor as if it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen in his entire life, refusing to speak to his friend.

“And I mean, David always made jokes about the possibility that you and Ford might be...well.”

“Wait what?” Stan said, finding his voice. “That me and Ford might be _what,_ exactly?”

“Well, that you and your brother might be...you know, fucking. Look, he doesn't have a very good sense of humor, and it's not uncommon for people to make incest jokes about twins...And it didn't help that you were so obsessed with Ford, you know?” Jimmy said, looking at his hands. “David always said you sounded like a jilted lover, and not...not a brother being annoyed that he wasn't getting a letter.”

“Jimmy...I...” Stan trailed off, the rest of his sentence dying in his throat. Jimmy stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to finish his sentence.

“You what?”

Stan stared at the floor again and he heard Jimmy sigh from beside him.

“You would've said no if you weren't,” Jimmy said. “You would've said no, right away. That's what I would've done. I'd've asked you why the hell you were asking me that, I'd tell you the letter was probably a dumb prank. You're dating him, aren't you?”

“Yeah.”

Jimmy stood up suddenly, and made for the door. 

“Where are you going?” Stan asked, surprised.

“I need to go for a smoke,” Jimmy said, a strange tone to his voice. Was it bitterness? Sort of. But honestly, it sounded more like...sadness. 

“You smoke?”

“I do now,” Jimmy said, ripping open the door and slamming his way out. 

Fuck.

He shouldn't've asked Jimmy to read the letter to him. But how was he supposed to know that Ford would write something like that?

_He's your boyfriend, idiot. Of course he would write to you that way._

God.

And now Jimmy knew. Jimmy knew and he wasn't taking it well. But Stan would've expected him to be angry, or disgusted, not sad. Why the hell would he be _sad?_ Sure, Jimmy had flirted with him before, but that didn't mean anything. Jimmy was a huge flirt, Stan had seen him flirt with other people before. It wasn't like he had a full fledged crush on Stan. 

Or did he? Was that an actual possibility? Was he sad because he wanted to be in Ford's place? That he wanted to be the one in Stan's arms? Perhaps he didn't even care that it was Ford Stan was dating, he just cared that he was dating anyone at all.

Stan set the guitar down and buried his face in his hands. This was a problem, and not only because his friend's feelings were hurt. The bigger problem was that Stan knew that he could never fully reject Jimmy. The like he felt for Jimmy could not compare to the love he felt for Ford, but the fact that those feelings were even there was bad. Jimmy wouldn't make a move, not now. That wasn't the kind of person that his friend was. But if he had, before he knew about Stan and Ford...what would Stan have done? Stan would like to think that he would've rejected him...but the knowledge that Jimmy was upset because he had a thing for him made him feel...well Stan didn't really want to think about that. Those feelings, those ideas, needed to be locked away, especially now that it appeared that his brother gave two shits about him.

Stan picked up the letter and read it over, and knew immediately what Jimmy had been talking about. Lines like “God, I miss you so much! I keep seeing your face and hearing your voice in everyone I meet, you're just everywhere Stan, I can't get you out of my head,” and “I've had so many dreams about you Stan. Being apart from you is so hard on me, honestly sometimes I feel like I'm dying. Do you ever feel like that? Does your heart ever hurt thinking about me?” made Stan flush as he imagined Jimmy reading them. Honestly, it was nearly a love letter, but Ford discussing their parents ruined it.

Jimmy didn't come back for a few hours, and when he did, he walked by without saying anything, reeking of smoke. Stan knew better than to try and get him to speak, and just let him be. But he knew they would need to talk, need to have that tough conversation if they wanted to move forwards. And it needed to happen as soon as possible. Stan made himself comfortable on the couch, and closed his eyes, wondering how it was that he was supposed to approach this topic.

It was the break of dawn when Stan awoke. Perhaps it was the stress that made him unable to sleep, but it didn't matter, because he knew that Jimmy would be awake. His friend rose with the sun every single morning. Stan on the other hand tended to get up at the crack of noon.

“Good morning,” Stan said, as Jimmy entered the living room. Jimmy glanced at him and frowned, clearly not expecting Stan to be awake. He watched Jimmy enter the kitchen, and decided to follow him.

“Do you need something?” Jimmy grunted as Stan approached him. 

“I just...thought we should talk.” Stan said tentatively. Jimmy turned around and glared at him.

“What about?”

“About Ford.”

“Nope,” Jimmy said, grinding some coffee beans. “I am not interested in talking about that.”

“Jimmy, we have to talk about it at some point,” Stan protested. “It was kind of a...big thing to discover about me. We need to talk.”

“Why?” Jimmy asked with a snort, grabbing a coffee filter. “I don't get why you're so eager to talk about it. You seemed pretty closed off last night. In my opinion, we don't ever have to talk about it.”

“Well, if we're...if you're still taking me to California,” Stan said, “It's possible you might meet him and--”

“What do you mean if?” Jimmy said, frowning at Stan. 

“Well...I thought maybe you wouldn't want to take me anymore,” Stan admitted. One of the things that had plagued his dreams last night had been Jimmy being unwilling to take him.

Jimmy's face softened. “Stan, of course I'm taking you to California. Our plans haven't changed. I'm still taking you to see your brother. Just 'cause I'm not thrilled about your relationship with him doesn't mean I'm not gonna--”

“You bought the tickets already, didn't you.”

“That too,” Jimmy said, a tiny smile on his face. “But mostly because I said I was gonna, and you deserve to see him. You miss him. He misses you. You should see each other.”

Stan nodded mutely, and took a deep breath in. It was time to ask. He needed to know.

“Jimmy do you like me? Like, as more than a friend?” Stan asked, the question coming out a bit louder than he'd planned.

Jimmy's eyebrows were in danger of flying off his face at this question. He leaned against the kitchen counter, and looked off to the side.

“What's that got to do with anything?”

“Well your reaction last night didn't really make sense to me. I thought you'd be mad, or that you'd think I was disgusting or something. But that wasn't what happened. You were sad, Jimmy, I know you were,” Stan said, clasping his hands together.

“You're not disgusting,” Jimmy said. “It's weird, but it's not like you're hurting anyone. I mean, you can't make babies together. That would be bad, because then you really would be hurting somebody, running the risk of seriously screwing them up.”

“Jimmy you're avoiding the question.”

“You mean like you were last night?”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Jimmy come on, I answered you eventually.”

“Well then I'll answer you eventually,” Jimmy said, opening up a cupboard and pulling out two mugs. He poured some coffee, handed Stan a mug, and took a sip from his own. Stan waited patiently, drinking his coffee, and finally Jimmy responded.

“Yeah, I...I...Jesus, do I have to say the word 'like?' Makes me feel like I'm in high school, and not an adult.”

“Well, what do adults say then?” Stan asked, taking another drink.

“I have no idea,” Jimmy said laughing. “But yeah I...that.”

“I'm sorry,” Stan said, staring into his mug.

“For what?” Jimmy asked, cocking his head.

“Well you're upset,” Stan started, but Jimmy interrupted.

“I'm a grown ass man, Stan, I can get over it, over you,” Jimmy said. “But it would've saved me a lot of grief if you'd've just told me a few months ago that you were dating someone.”

“I was worried that you'd judge me!” Stan said defensively.

“You didn't have to say who.”

“Sorry,” Stan mumbled.

“It's fine, don't worry about it,” Jimmy said, giving Stan a sad smile. 

“Are you sure?” Stan asked, concerned. This time it was Jimmy's turn to roll his eyes.

“Tell me Stan, what would your solution be if I said it wasn't? Would you break up with your brother and date me instead?”

“No.”

“So what would you do?”

“I dunno, I just...I don't want you to be sad, Jimmy!” Stan said, gripping his mug tightly.

“You're very sweet Stan, but rejection hurts, okay? I got most of my sad out last night, and now it's time to move on. I still want to be friends if you want to be friends.”

“Jimmy, of course I want to be friends,” Stan said. “You saved my life. My life is so much better, all thanks to you.”

“Oh that's right,” Jimmy said, refilling his mug. “You still need me to pay for your shit. And you need a place to live.”

“That's not what I meant!” Stan said, frustrated. “I mean, it's great that you're doing that though. But you're a good person too. I don't want to lose you.”

“Look,” Jimmy said, picking up the carafe and refilling Stan's mug, “You aren't gonna lose me over some grade school feelings bullshit. I promise.”

“So we're okay?” Stan asked anxiously. 

“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “We're okay, you weirdo brotherfucker.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Stan said playfully, a blush on his face.

But even though Jimmy said everything was okay, things were instantly different. And Stan hated different. His friend was doing exactly what Stan had done to Ford all those months ago. No more playful punches, no more leaning against each other on the couch when they watched TV. Stan, being a very physically affectionate person, found himself desperate for touch, desperate for Jimmy to just return to his previous behavior. But he knew that it wasn't going to be possible, because while the treatment reminded Stan of himself and his brother, it was different. This wasn't just for Stan's benefit, it was also for Jimmy's. His friend was trying to heal, and Stan needed to respect that.

Stan didn't have too much time to mourn the loss of what their friendship used to be because he needed to prepare for the trip. It wasn't just buying seasonally appropriate clothes and trying to decide if he should get a hair cut. He needed to figure out his medication.

Jimmy came in with Stan to talk to the people at the methadone clinic. The clinic told him that they would need to transfer his information over to whatever clinic he was planning on going to. With a little bit of research, the group of them landed on a place. Pasadena and Valencia were only a half hour drive from each other, so he'd be fine going to visit Karith's grave, and also going to see his brother.

And after all of that was done...Stan still didn't feel prepared. He'd changed a lot since he'd last seen his brother, and he didn't just mean his rapidly growing hair. Emotionally, he had changed. He wasn't the same carefree kid just bumbling through life. What if Ford had changed as much as he had? What if he didn't like what he saw? Or hell, what Ford didn't like who Stan had become? 

It was only when they were sitting in the waiting area for their plane that Stan voiced his concerns.

“It's gonna be fine,” Jimmy reassured him. “Your brother is gonna love you. And you're gonna love him! It'll be great.”

“Well if you're sure...”

“I'm positive. Oh, time to board.” Jimmy stood up, grabbed his bags, and motioned for Stan to come with him.

“Still got that letter?” Jimmy asked as Stan followed him.

“Yeah,” Stan said. Ford had said in the letter which dorm he was staying in, and on what floor. Stan had made the choice to surprise him. He was pretty sure that it wouldn't be that hard to figure out which room was Ford's. And if he couldn't, he could just ask. Since they looked almost exactly the same, he was sure that if he just said 'I'm his brother' he would be believed and pointed in the right direction.

He couldn't believe it. Finally, _finally,_ he was going to see his brother.


	13. Chapter 13

Ford watched Ollie closely over the next few weeks, and realized that Fiddleford may indeed have a point. Some of the things Ollie was saying could maybe, _potentially,_ be interpreted as more than friendly, and he suddenly became aware of how often his friend's hands were on him. 

All he had to do was tell him. 'I have a boyfriend' needed to fall from his lips. That was it, it would be easy, simple. But somehow this was not as easy as he thought it would be. Every time he tried, Ollie would flash him a dazzling smile, or get this dumb, loving look in his eye and Ford just deflated. He didn't want to be the one to hurt Ollie's feelings. He didn't even want to be there when it happened. If only Ollie could figure it out on his own. Or maybe someone else could tell him.

“No.”

“Please Fiddleford!” Ford begged, walking to the local coffee shop on campus.

“I said no!” Fiddleford said, exasperated. “You're the only one who can do this.”

“But I don't want to,” Ford mumbled, kicking at a small pebble. Fiddleford snorted loudly at this.

“You have to take control of your own life,” Fiddleford said. “And it's not like he's even asked you out on a date. All you have to do is casually bring up this mystery man.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Ford asked, pushing open the door to the shop.

“Say something like 'oh I'm so happy, I just got a phone call from my high school sweetheart!' Lie about what the conversation was and bam, you're done. He'll know you have a guy, and you won't have to worry about leading him on.” 

“But what if he gets sad?” Ford said, getting in line. Fiddleford rolled his eyes so hard that it looked like it hurt.

“He's going to have to find out eventually. Either you tell him now, or you wait until the poor guy asks you out.”

“You think he'd actually ask me out?” Ford asked.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” Fiddleford asked. “And yeah, probably. I don't see why not.”

Ford was quiet for a moment. “Are you _sure_ you can't just tell him for me?”

“After class,” Fiddleford said, “I'm going to go to the store, and buy you one of those plastic lunchboxes with cartoon characters on it. And you know what I'm gonna do with it?”

“Um. No?”

“I'm gonna make you a goddamned packed lunch to take to your next class because _apparently_ you are still in grade school!”

“That's not fair!” Ford said, irritated. “I'm not...I'm not _child like,_ I just—”

“No, you are acting like we're in middle school. You are an adult Ford. You can do this, I promise.”

But even though Fiddleford had faith in him, Ford simply could not do it. So instead, he started avoiding him. Making up excuses as to why they couldn't hang out, even just to study. Fiddleford simply shook his head at this, but kept quiet, much to Ford's relief. 

However, Ford found that he couldn't keep this up for much longer. He found himself missing Ollie. He was one of the rare people that really understood Ford. Sure, Fiddleford was sharp as a whip and they had common interests, but Ollie...they just clicked. Giving up that friendship was like lopping off a limb.

“This is for his own good,” Ford kept repeating to himself. But the hole in his heart where best friend used to be kept growing, so eventually he gave in, and decided to go do something with Ollie.

Ollie was very pleased with this. He expressed to Ford that he thought he had done something wrong, and had been extremely worried about what it could be. Ford had no idea what to say except to stammer out that Ollie had done nothing wrong.

“I just, you know, needed some time off, time to myself!” Ford said hurriedly. 

“Yeah, I know how that goes,” Ollie said. “But the next time you want some space, just say you need some space instead of making me worry!”

The weather had been particularly nice lately, so they made plans to go sit by the fountain outside of Ford's dorm and do their homework there. 

“So,” Ollie said as they spread our their work in front of them, “Looking forwards to turning 19?”

“I guess,” Ford said with a shrug. “It's nothing special really. 18 is when you become an official adult, 21 is when you can drink. 19 and 20 aren't exactly something to look forwards to.”

“That's not true!” Ollie protested. “It's a day that's all about you! Your friends will throw you a party, you'll get presents, and it's just a great time.”

Ford shrugged. “I suppose.”

“What's eating you?” Ollie said, frowning. 

“Stan isn't gonna be here,” Ford finally said. “Presents and parties don't matter to me. He's what matters to me. Every year we've been together and this year...I don't know, maybe it's just a twin thing.” Ford wondered if what he had just said was true. Did other twins felt this way as well? Or did the depression he was feeling come from being in love with Stan?

“Are you worried about what he's going to be doing?” Ollie asked, cracking open a textbook.

“No,” Ford said, starting in on his math homework, “It's purely selfish. I just want him here with me. I'm sure he's going to do something fun with those friends he made.”

“Well what about you?” Ollie said, cracking open a highlighter and marking a sentence in his book. “Johnathan told me that Fiddleford said that you don't want to do anything.”

“Well I don't.”

“John is the king of parties. It's not to late you know, he's got so many connections, he could totally--”

“Look, I said no, okay?” Ford said, more forcefully than he'd intended. Ollie raised an eyebrow, and Ford looked away, embarrassed at his tone. “I just...I want to keep things simple.”

“Suit yourself,” Ollie said with a shrug. The two grew quiet after that, and diligently worked on their school work. They only spoke to ask the other to quiz them on something. Ollie had a test in his anatomy class, and needed to memorize the names of every bone in the body. He only blanked a couple of times, but after a few run throughs, he managed to name all of them correctly. 

“Man, naming all of those bones sounds hard,” Ford said, looking over the sheet. 

“It's not that bad,” Ollie said. “If you can memorize all of those math equations and symbols and not even have to look at a sheet of notes to remind you, you can memorize the bones in the body.”

“Speaking of math,” Ford said, “How's Pre-Calc treating you?”

“Bleh,” Ollie said, sticking out his tongue. “I have a solid B in it, but I need to raise it to an A so that my scholarship doesn't get taken.”

“You have to get straight As?” Ford asked

“No, but there's a GPA requirement. I've been pulling Bs and Cs recently, and I need to get some As otherwise...”

“Well can't you get them in another class?” Ford asked.

“Sure,” Ollie said, “But Pre-Calc is the easiest class for me to pull my grade up in.”

“I see,” Ford said. “Is it bad that we're hanging out while studying? I mean, if you need to get that grade, I don't want to be distracting you from what you really need to be doing.”

Ollie smiled at him. “No, Ford. This is fine. I love studying with you.” And before Ford could blink, his friend leaned forwards and kissed him.

Ford's brain completely shut off. This had not been expected. He had not prepared for this situation. Sure, he'd figured out that Ollie might like him, but he hadn't expected for his friend to kiss him. This was very bad.

What was he going to do when Ollie pulled away? Or wait...should he be the one to pull away? What was he supposed to do in this situation? When he had surprised Stan with a kiss, Stan had been the one to shove him off, but Ford wasn't entirely sure that he was even able to move. 

“So THAT'S why it took you so long to write to me!” a familiar voice said furiously from directly in front of them. 

That was what he needed. The trance was broken, and Ford was able to shove Ollie off, turn his head and--

Oh shit.

* * *

Stan watched as Ford pushed the man kissing him off, and turned to stare at Stan, wide eyed with shock and horror.

“Stan?” his brother croaked out.

“Yeah!” Stan said, feeling his face flush with anger. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“Ford? What's going on? Is this your brother?” the man who had locked lips with Ford said, looking at Stan with a confused expression. Ford shot him a warning glace, and stood up.

“Stan...how...why...what are you doing here?”

“It doesn't matter anymore!” Stan said, crumpling up the letter with Ford's address on it in his hand. “But I'm fucking glad I came so I could see with my own eyes why exactly it is that you've been ignoring me for so long!”

“No! You don't understand!” Ford said, frustrated. “I can...I can explain.”

God this was playing out just like a movie. Person A walks in on Person B cheating, and Person B says 'I can explain! This isn't what it looks like!' But it always was. It was always exactly what it looked like. So if his life was playing out like the very beginning of some dumb rom-com, then why should this part be any different?

“You think I wanna hear why you're cheating on me?” Stan said loudly. Ford winced, and the man in the background's eyes grew wide as saucers. People around them were beginning to stare, but Stan found that he didn't particularly care. Let them look. Let them see how his brother had betrayed him. 

“Stan, that's not what's going on,” Ford said in a calm, measured voice, clearly trying to de-escalate the situation.

“Like hell!” Stan said, balling his fists. “You're kissing another guy! What else could it be?”

“Stan, I didn't mean for that to happen, I'm not...I wouldn't!” Ford said imploringly, rushing over to Stan, but he backed up several paces, not wanting to be anywhere near his twin. He didn't want to hear any more excuses. Hell, he didn't want to even hear his brother's voice. All he wanted was to run. Run far, far away from here and never look back.

“Fuck off.” Stan said, a wobble in his voice. “I don't want to see you ever you again.” 

He turned around and left, walking as quickly as he could without running. He could hear Ford calling his name, first with a sense of urgency, then desperation, and then...Ford was sobbing as he shouted after Stan, and he was pretty sure he could hear Ford chasing after him, so Stan picked up the pace. As far as Stan was concerned, he was through with Ford.

Happily, he managed to find a crowd to disappear in, making it so that his twin could no longer follow him. Stan was a bit lost now, as he wasn't following the path he had originally taken to get to Ford's dorm. After a bit of searching, he found the street he needed and headed back to the hotel he and Jimmy were staying at.

He slammed open the door to the lobby and stomped his way past the reception desk. Stan could feel the eyes of the other patrons on him, and did his best to ignore them. He jabbed at the elevator button more times than necessary, as if taking his anger out on it would help somehow. But while he waited for the lift to come, he felt his anger melt away and turn into something different. Hot tears welled in his eyes and dripped down his face. He fought it, he really did, but when the elevator came, Stan found himself crying as he entered it. 

_“Oh, Stan! I'll always remember you. Look, I'll promise you right now, you and me forever. Only you and me.”_

“Liar.” Stan said under his breath. “Fucking LIAR!” he shouted, and kicked one of the walls to the elevator. Thankfully he was on his own, and the lift only stopped when it reached his floor. He rushed out of the elevator and down the hall, and fumbled with the lock before bursting into the hotel room. Jimmy was sitting on his bed watching TV, and frowned when he saw Stan.

“Back so—are you ok?” Jimmy said, concerned, getting up off the bed. Stan shook his head no, and felt more tears spill from his eyes. 

Jimmy walked over and wrapped Stan in a hug. “What happened, kitten? Why aren't you with your brother?”

“H-he cheated on me!” Stan finally said, dramatically throwing the crumpled letter in his hand on the floor.

“What?” Jimmy said, shocked, letting go of Stan. “How do you know?”

“Saw him.” Stan mumbled, sniffing loudly. “He said he wasn't, but it was...it was so obvious.”

“Well what was his side? What did he tell you he was doing?” Jimmy asked, gripping Stan's shoulders.

“I...I don't know.” Stan said, looking down. “I didn't...After I saw what happened, I just left. I couldn't be around him for one more second. I never want to see his fucking face again.” Stan looked up at Jimmy. His friend looked so concerned, so worried, so ready to help. That's the way he always was. Ready to do anything to help a friend. He'd always been there for Stan, no matter what. Always put him first. But what could Jimmy do to help in this situation?

And then it hit him.

Jimmy could help him forget.

Without really thinking it through, he grabbed the front of Jimmy's shirt with both hands and yanked hard, pulling his friend into a kiss. Jimmy froze, and when they broke apart, he swallowed hard and stared at Stan with wide eyes. He looked like he was about to say something, but Stan didn't let him. He pulled Jimmy in for another, and this time his friend reciprocated enthusiastically. Jimmy wrapped one arm around Stan's waist, and tangled his other hand in Stan's hair. Their kisses were hot and frenzied, and it didn't take long for Jimmy to work Stan's mouth open and explore it with his tongue.

Stan reached down and rubbed at Jimmy's erection through his pants with the heel of his hand. Jimmy gasped into Stan's mouth, and let out a small moan of pleasure. Stan slipped a hand down his friend's pants and slowly began to tease him. Jimmy was bent over slightly, arms around Stan's neck, and his head on his shoulder. Stan smiled as his friend panted and whined, and began to move his hand a little bit faster.

“Bed,” Jimmy finally managed to say, and Stan nodded, removing his hand. They rushed over to the closer of the two beds, and Jimmy pinned Stan down, kissing him deeply. He began to grind into Stan, kissing and biting at his neck. Stan groaned and wrapped his arms around his friend's neck, whispering encouragements into his ear.

This was perfect, this was exactly what Stan needed. Confirmation that he was loved and appreciated. Something that Jimmy would be able to give him all the time. In no time at all, Stan would be able to forget. Those happy memories Stan had once held so dear would evaporate, and he could replace them with new ones, _better_ ones.

Suddenly, Jimmy stopped moving. Stan opened his eyes, and nearly asked why, but hesitated at the look on his friend's face. Jimmy didn't have a look of lust or even of happiness on his face. Instead, he looked like he was contemplating something unpleasant.

“Jimmy?” Stan asked.

“I can't do this,” Jimmy said heavily, sitting up. “I'm sorry, I...no.”

“What?” Stan said, surprised. “Why don't you want to?”

Jimmy laughed at this, and ran a hand through his long blonde hair, shaking it out a bit. “I do want to, Stan. You have no idea how _hard_ it is for me to not just fuck you senseless right here and right now. But I can't. Wouldn't be right.”

“I don't understand.”

“Look, you aren't doing this because you have feelings for me,” Jimmy said, moving his body so that he was facing Stan. “You're doing this because...you're sad. You just got cheated on. I get it, you want comfort, and you feel like sex will help but...this isn't what you want. Not really. And...and I only want to do things with you if you want me for me and not just as a distraction.”

Stan felt a lump rise in his throat, and rolled onto his side so he didn't have to look at Jimmy.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and realized he was on the verge of tears. “I...I used you, I'm sorry.”

Jimmy slid over so that he was right next to him and placed a hand on Stan's arm. “It's okay,” he said softly. “We all make mistakes. And...I was gonna let you do it Stan. From the second you first kissed me I knew I shouldn't, I _knew._ But I wanted it so badly.” He sighed, and gave Stan's arm a pat before standing up. He walked over to where they had been standing previously, bent over, and picked up the crumpled letter. Jimmy flattened it out and scanned it quickly.

“Okay,” he said, looking up from the letter. “I'm going to go find your brother.”

“What?” Stan said, rolling over to face Jimmy. “No you aren't!”

“Yeah I am,” Jimmy said. “You're in no fit state to find out what his side of the story is, so I'm going to.”

“He doesn't even know you,” Stan said weakly. “Why would he listen to you?”

“I can be persuasive,” Jimmy said, walking over to the door and turning the handle. “I'll be back soon. Don't you fucking go anywhere.”

Stan watched Jimmy leave, and when the door clicked shut, he let go. Tears spilled from his eyes, his body shaking from the force of his sobs. What the fuck was wrong with him? Here Jimmy was, doing all these amazing things for him, and Stan had to and try and take advantage of the fact that he had a crush on him.

Everything was ruined, and Stan couldn't see how he recover from this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "OH! NOW YOU FUCKED UP! NOW YOU FUCKED UP! NOW YOU FUCKED UP! YOU HAVE FUCKED UP NOW!" --Whitest Kids You Know
> 
> I uh. Just thought that quote really summed up this chapter.


	14. Chapter 14

Ford sat on the edge of his bed, wondering if there was a way he could stop existing without dying. That was all he wanted right now, to vanish off the face of this Earth. He'd lost Stan, he'd lost Ollie, and he was probably going to lose Fiddleford. There was no way Ollie wasn't going to tell Johnathan, and there was no way Johnathan wasn't going to tell his own boyfriend!

He was contemplating the pros and cons of running away from school when the door opened and Fiddleford walked in.

“You're here,” Ford said, unnecessarily. 

“Thank you Captain Obvious,” Fiddleford said, annoying Ford. He hated it when people used that phrase. “I am indeed here.”

“Aren't you supposed to be at Johnathan's? Thought you were staying the night.”

“Well I was,” Fiddleford said, closing the door. “But I got distracted by interesting piece of news that I thought we could talk about.”

“Is that so?” Ford asked, his voice shaking a bit. He had a pretty good idea about what the piece of news was, and hoped against hope that he was wrong.

“It is,” Fiddleford said, grabbing Ford's desk chair and sitting on it. “Johnathan and I were hanging out in his room, when Ollie burst in. He had some very surprising things to say. Do you know what they were?”

“Fiddleford, can you just get to the point?” Ford snapped.

“He said that your brother appeared on campus and claimed you were cheating on him.”

Ford didn't say anything.

“He thought that was very strange. You cheating on your brother. Because that would imply that you were dating your brother.”

Ford remained quiet.

“Johnathan said that Ollie must've misheard, but Ollie told us that you told your brother that you weren't cheating, that this wasn't what it looked like. And then you ran after him when your brother left in a huff. So I'd like to know if Ollie did indeed mishear and misread the situation, or if your brother is the mystery man you keep talking about.”

Ford kept his silence. Fiddleford sighed.

“You aren't going to talk to me are you.”

“I just don't know what to say,” Ford said sadly. “Anything I say will end in disaster.”

“Why do you think that?” Fiddleford asked.

“Because, if I say that Ollie misheard, it'll become a big thing, but if I say that he was right, and I'm with my brother, it'll be an even bigger thing, and I'll lose all my friends,” Ford said in one breath, staring at his feet. “It's a lose-lose situation.”

“You wouldn't lose me.”

“Do you really want to be friends with a freak like me?” Ford said angrily. “Incest is seen as...as...this awful thing. Not every instance of it has a positive outcome you know. So everyone thinks it can only be negative, can only be traumatizing. And if they do acknowledge that we're...that we...that it's not bad in our case, they just view us as sinful freaks of nature!”

“So it's true.”

“Yes,” Ford said, putting his face in his hands. “It's true.”

Fiddleford looked like he was about to reply when there was a knock on the door.

“Can you get it?” Ford asked, and Fiddleford nodded.

“Hello?” Fiddleford asked, opening the door. 

“Hey,” said a deep voice. “Is Ford around?”

There was a pause. Fiddleford clearly had no idea how he was supposed to respond to this.

“Uh...”

Ford sighed and stood up. Whatever, he could deal with this.

“Yeah I'm--” Ford stopped mid-sentence as he looked at the man in their doorway. He was a tall, broad shouldered man with thick, flowing hair that hit mid-back. He had a handle bar mustache that would look dumb on anyone else, but he was able to pull it off, along with his beat up biker clothing. But Ford was positive that this man could shave off one eyebrow and wear a potato sack covered in dog shit and still look fantastic. He was the most beautiful man Ford had ever laid eyes on. This man should be on the covers of high fashion magazines, not standing in his doorway wearing ripped jeans, muddy boots, and smudged sunglasses.

He suddenly felt Fiddleford nudge him in the ribs, and to his horror, Ford realized he'd been openly staring at this man. The man raised an eyebrow, and Ford cleared his throat, feeling heat rise to his cheeks.

“I, uh, I am. I am Stanford, but um, you can feel free to call me Ford!” Ford said sticking out a hand. The man took it and gave him a firm handshake. “Um. Who are you?”

“James Snakes, but you can, what did you say? You can feel free to call me Jimmy,” the man said.

“Great,” Ford said. “What did you say you wanted?”

“I didn't,” Jimmy said. “But I will now. I'm a friend of your brother's, and I'd like to talk to you.”

Ford felt the blood drain from his face. No. No, this man was probably angry with Ford and by the looks of him, was probably going to beat him to a pulp.

“I...I am busy and have other things to do,” Ford said quickly. “Maybe another time?”

Jimmy tipped his glasses down revealing the most amazing crystal blue eyes. Then he flashed Ford a dazzling smile. Not too much teeth, and just the right amount of lift to his lips and somehow Ford was in a booth in a restaurant with a menu in his hands, seated across from Jimmy.

“Man, the food at this place looks great,” Jimmy said, scanning his menu. “But I'm not really that hungry. Wanna split an appetizer?”

“I...what?” Ford asked, still surprised that he had elected to let this strange man take him to a restaurant he'd never heard of. 

“How about the nachos?”

“Um, sure. Why are we...? I mean to say, what exactly do you want from me?”

Jimmy set his menu down, and looked critically at Ford. He wasn't wearing his glasses anymore, and his astonishing eyes seemed to pierce Ford to his very soul.

“Your brother and I decided to take a trip to Cali for a couple of reasons, but one of them was to see you. And don't try and hide anything, I know all about your relationship.”

“You do?” Ford said weakly. 

“Yeah, Stan let me in on it. Anyway, he came crying home, or, to our hotel room, telling me his dear brother had cheated on him. But!” Jimmy said loudly, as Ford showed every sign of interrupting, “He also said that you had attempted to tell him that you were not cheating. And—oh hello!” Jimmy said, as the waitress walked over to their table. “We just want the nachos. Oh, and I'll have a pint of...hmm. What have you got on tap?” 

The waitress discussed beer with Jimmy, and when he finally picked one out, she turned to Ford who stared at her like a deer in the headlights. He forgot he was going to have to order something.

“Do you have coke?”

“We have RC.”

“Yeah, okay, that'll be fine.”

The waitress sauntered off, and Jimmy picked up the conversation.

“Anyway, as I was saying, he had mentioned that you had tried to tell him you hadn't actually cheated on him. Now your brother is a very emotional man, and I don't think he's really in any state to try and hash things out with you today. So I have come in his place. What the hell happened?”

“I don't really want to talk about this with someone I don't know!” Ford said, annoyed. 

“Too bad, we're going to talk about it.”

“Well what if I leave?” Ford said, crossing his arms.

“Stan seems to have an odd taste in bony poindexters. I bet I could throw you over my shoulder and shove you right back into this here booth again and again until you finally decide to talk.”

Ford's mind went blank. “In bony _what?_ ”

“Poindexters?” Jimmy said, raising an eyebrow. “This really the first time you've heard that phrase?”

“No, actually. Stanley used to...it was a nickname he'd call me.”

“Oh.” Jimmy said. He was quiet for a moment, but then shook his head, as if to clear his mind, and folded his hands on the table. “Anyhow, you and I are going to talk about this, by consent or by force. It's gonna happen.”

“Fine,” Ford said, glaring at Jimmy. “What do you want to know?”

“Did you do it?”

“No!” Ford said, slamming his hands on the table, causing a few patrons to look over at them, alarmed. “I mean, no.” Ford said, quieter this time. “I wouldn't.”

“So why were you kissing that guy?”

“I wasn't!” Ford said. “ _He_ was kissing _me!_ ”

“Keep going,” Jimmy said, resting his chin on one of his fists.

“I was just hanging out with him, Ollie. We're really good friends, but then it turned out that he liked me, but I was too scared to tell him no and then...then today he just leaned over and kissed me right as Stan arrived. And then I tried to reason with Stan, but he ran off, and I tried to catch up but couldn't. And then when I went back to where I was, Ollie had vanished.”

“That sounds like one of those dumbass movies that a friend of mine used to drag me to.”

“Right?” Ford said, with a small laugh. “Just saying it out loud sounds dumb. Almost like it was staged or some shit. But no, it actually happened. I swear I'm not lying.”

“I believe you,” Jimmy said. 

“Just like that?” Ford said, surprised. 

“You're not the kind of person to lie.”

“How do you know?” Ford said, leaning in. “Maybe...maybe I'm the world's best liar!”

Jimmy gave Ford a small smile and shook his head. “Secrets and lies, that's what the world I live in is built upon. I can usually tell when people are playing games with me, lying to my face. You are not one of those people.”

“Well, what does a lie look like, then?” Ford asked, curious.

“Everyone lies differently,” Jimmy said. “But listening to tone of voice, watching their body movements...look closely, and you can make an educated guess. I don't know for sure that you aren't lying, but when I actually pay attention...I haven't been wrong yet.”

“So are you going to tell him?” Ford asked, as the waitress arrived, bringing them their food and drinks.

“Yes,” Jimmy said. “And then you two are going to talk.”

“He won't want to talk to me,” Ford said, picking up a chip from the plate.

“No, probably not. But I'm going to make him. It's for his own good. You two have a lot to talk about.”

“Do we?” Ford asked, taking a drink from his cup.

“Yes,” Jimmy said. “Stuff that isn't my business to talk to you about. You'll talk tomorrow. I'll bring him to your dorm to make sure he gets there.”

“Wait, hang on!” Ford said, annoyed. “What do you mean, 'you'll talk tomorrow?' Don't I have any agency in this?”

“Nope!” Jimmy said, grabbing one of the chips that had the most toppings on it and stuffing it in his mouth. “None at all!”

“When are you bringing him over?” Ford said moodily, knowing that it was going to happen whether he liked it or not.

“Sometime between 10 and 12,” Jimmy said, an odd look in his eyes. “Stan will make that choice.”

“What if his choice is not at all?” Ford asked.

“Then I'll pick for him.”

“Do you usually force people into situations they don't want to be in?” Ford asked after a while. Jimmy laughed at this.

“Only if it absolutely has to be done.”

* * *

 

Stan sat on his bed, curled up into a ball. He was sure that when Jimmy returned, he'd tell him what Ford had said, and then end the trip, kick him out. Surely Jimmy hated him! His friend had been suspiciously easy on him, strangely kind. That's not what Stan would've done. He would've been angry, and felt betrayed. But no, not Jimmy. Cool as a cucumber, just like always.

And to be quite honest, that kindness cut even deeper than anger and frustration. He deserved anger. He deserved to be struck across the face, shoved to the ground, have the door slammed in his face. Kindness was cruel. Telling him that everyone makes mistakes cut him to the core. He had fucked up and Jimmy didn't even mind.

He heard the door creak open, and looked up to see Jimmy walk into the room. Jimmy looked over at him, took a deep breath in, and puffed out his cheeks a bit before letting the air out.

“Guess who the cheater is?” Jimmy said in a falsely cheery voice.

“Yeah, I know, Ford cheated on--”

“Nope! It's you.” Jimmy said, clapping his hands together.

Stan blinked at him. “What?”

“Did you actually break up with him?” Jimmy asked, approaching Stan.

“No, I guess not,” Stan said, thinking hard.

“Well, turns out your brother didn't actually cheat on you. He was surprise kissed just as you walked up.”

“What? No, that's movie bullshit,” Stan said shaking his head.

“Well, yes, but it turns out that it can happen in real life too.” Jimmy said. “But here's the thing. You ran off, made out with me and jerked me off a little bit,” he said, plopping down next to Stan, “All while still being in a relationship.”

Stan stared at him, not believing what he was hearing. “No, Ford was the one...I...only after...he deserved...”

“He didn't do it.” Jimmy said shrugging.

“You're not fucking with me?”

“Nope.”

Stan buried his face in his hands. Just when he thought the day couldn't get any worse.

“Did you tell him?” Stan said, looking up at Jimmy, terrified. “Did you tell him what I...what we did?”

“No,” Jimmy said, shaking his head. “If anyone lets Ford know, it's gotta be you. He has to hear it from you.”

“I can't tell him.” Stan said blankly. “I can't.”

“Then don't,” Jimmy said shrugging. “Take it to your grave, what do I care?”

Stan was silent for a moment. “So...he really didn't cheat on me?”

“He really didn't cheat on you.”

“Well what happened then?” Stan said, furious. “I know what I saw!”

“Like I said, he was surprise kissed. He was with a friend who had a crush on him. Shit happened. Ford didn't want that kiss, but got it anyway. He wasn't cheating.”

“Well what happens now?” Stan asked, sadly. Ford had been the one to keep their promise, but Stan...Stan was the one who broke it, shattered it to bits.

“That's your choice, sort of.” Jimmy said.

“What do you mean, 'sort of?'” Stan asked warily.

“You're going to go talk to your brother tomorrow,” Jimmy said casually.

“No I'm not!” Stan said, horrified. “I...no! Not after what you just said! How can I even look him in the eye knowing...knowing...”

“You'll figure it out.” Jimmy said. Stan snorted.

“I'll figure it out? Is that all you have to say?”

“No,” Jimmy said. “Do you want to take him to the clinic with you tomorrow?”

Time seemed to stop for a moment. Take Ford to the clinic?

“No,” Stan said shaking his head. “He can't know about it. He can't know I was a user.”

“That's the thing,” Jimmy said, suddenly serious, “If you decide to continue being with your brother, he's going to have to find out.”

“No,” Stan said. “I could hide it!”

“For how long?” Jimmy said, narrowing his eyes. “How long are you going to lie to your brother about where you're going? And what'll happen when he finally learns the truth? You think he'll want to be with someone who thinks so little of him that they won't reveal something like that?”

“I don't think little of him!” Stan fired back. “I just...”

“You're embarrassed,” Jimmy said. “You're afraid of his reaction, I get it. But he needs to know. This isn't a little thing that can be glossed over. This is big. This is your life, your reality, and if you want him to be apart of it, he has to know.”

“But what if he doesn't want to be with me anymore?” Stan said, his voice wobbling. “What if hates me?”

“Then he was never worth your time,” Jimmy said firmly. “It's not like you're using and won't stop. You're taking steps to better yourself, to make sure you don't go down that path again. If he can't see that...you're better off without him.”

“Do I have to take him with me to tell him?” Stan asked.

“No, you could tell him without taking him with you. I just thought it might be easier than sitting in a chair somewhere, trying to pluck up the courage to let him know.”

“I guess I could take him,” Stan mumbled. “I don't want to see him at all though.”

“Well you're going to,” Jimmy said. “Even if it means me throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you over to his dorm room.”

“I hate everything,” Stan said miserably. 

“No you don't,” Jimmy said softly. “And I think you'll feel better after you talk to Ford.”

“But what am I supposed to say?” Stan said. “Hey Ford, lets go on a date to the methadone clinic! Doesn't that sound romantic?”

“Just tell him where you're going and why. Don't make any excuses, don't get defensive. Just give him the facts. You can't control his reaction, but Stan, you can control yours. Be calm, be level headed. If he reacts badly, don't freak out.”

“I wouldn't freak out!” Stan lied, knowing perfectly well that freaking out would be his first reaction.

“Well alright,” Jimmy said. “What do you want to do with the rest of your day?”

“Sleep it away,” Stan said.

“You're not going to do that,” Jimmy said. “How about we go to a museum instead?”

“Ugh, no really?” Stan said, sticking his tongue out. “That sounds terrible.”

“Your idea was sleeping. Mine is much better. Now get your ass up, we're going to one the ten million museums in this stupid town.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took such an extraordinarily long time to get out! There's been some life issues down on my end, and I just haven't been able to write. The last few chapters should hopefully come out in a timely manner though!

Ford woke up anxious. At first, he had no idea why he was feeling such tremendous anxiety, but he quickly remembered his conversation with Jimmy the previous day. He was going to see his brother. And they were going to have to talk about what had occurred the other day. This sent a pang of something else through him, something similar. Fear.

He was anxious about meeting up with his brother, and afraid of what might happen while they were out. Stan had always been the type of person to act on emotion, and emotion alone. Rarely did he stop to get all of the facts, or think critically about what was going on. Jimmy had said he would tell Stan that Ford hadn't cheated...but who knew if Stan would even believe him? What if Stan just yelled at him the whole time?

Ford glanced over at his alarm clock. It read 9:45. When had Jimmy said Stan was supposed to come over? Around ten? He couldn't remember. Throwing the sheets off of him, he looked over at Fiddleford's side of the room. He had already left for class, and since it was Friday, Ford wouldn't get to see him until Monday—he always spent the weekends with Johnathan. Ford wished he had gotten up a bit earlier so that he could've spoken with his friend. A good pep talk was what he needed right now, and he wasn't in the right mindset to give himself one.

A shower, that was what he needed. A nice long shower would help clear his mind. Ford got out of bed, and was suddenly overcome with gratitude that he had a room with it's own shower. Sure he and Fiddleford had to share it with the two men in the room next to him, but it was a lot better than a communal one, that was for sure.

Ford turned on the water, undressed, and stepped in. For a moment, he let the hot water simply flow over him, hoping that it would wash away his feelings. He had no such luck. 

This whole situation was ridiculous, and a part of him wanted to throw his hands in the air and say 'No! I refuse to be apart of this!' and just walk away. But doing so would mean losing Stan, and losing Stan...their time apart had made one thing very clear to Ford. He couldn't pretend that he was okay being alone. And the thought of facing an entire lifetime without Stan? He'd rather die.

He turned the water off, toweled himself dry, and headed to his room to pick out something to wear. Though it didn't really matter what he chose, Ford picked through his sweater vests, trying to remember which ones Stan had complimented him on in the past. Eventually, he settled upon a dark brown sweater vest over a light blue button up. Those two colors looked good together, right?

A loud knock startled Ford as he was tying his shoes. He rushed over to the door, and opened it a bit, and found Stan standing in the doorway. He was glaring at his shoes, and looked like he would rather be anywhere else.

“You're by yourself!” Ford said, surprised. He had expected that Jimmy would be here.

“Good morning to you too,” Stan mumbled, shoved his hands into his pockets, and resumed staring at the floor. Ford had no idea what to say next, so instead he simply looked at Stan. His brother's appearance had definitely changed since the last time he saw him. The first thing Ford noticed was how thin his brother looked. To an outsider, he looked “normal,” but to Ford, he looked downright unhealthy. This concerned Ford. Was his brother not eating right? The second thing was his brother's shoulder length hair. If you had asked him a couple days prior if he thought Stan could pull off long hair, Ford would've simply laughed as a response. But oddly enough, it looked alright. But there was one last thing...

“What are you staring at?” Stan asked, sounding a bit annoyed.

“Why are you wearing a long sleeve shirt?”

Stan blinked, looking a bit surprised. “You're wearing one too!” he said, defensively.

“Yeah, but you always wear short sleeve shirts. You cut the sleeves out of the long sleeves that Ma would buy you for the winter time. Why are you--”

“Why does it matter?” Stan said forcefully. “Can we just...can we just go?”

“Um, okay,” Ford said, nervous that Stan was already being hostile with him. “Let me grab my keys real quick.”

He darted into his room, snatched up his key ring, and shoved it into his pants pocket, along with his wallet. Alright, he was all set to go. He shut the door behind him, and made to move forwards, but was stopped by his brother.

“Aren't you gonna lock up?”

“Actually, it locks on it's own.” Ford explained. “As soon as you open the door, it goes back to its locked state.”

“Oh,” Stan said. “Whatever.” He turned to leave, and Ford followed him.

“Thanks for...thanks for thinking to remind me though,” Ford said, hoping that he could inject some sort of positivity into their meeting. This had to go well. He couldn't lose Stan.

“I'm glad you came,” Ford said tentatively as they got off of the elevator. “I honestly thought that Jimmy might have to drag you over.”

“He kinda did,” Stan said, shrugging. “He drove me over, walked me in, and saw that I got into the elevator. Had a lot of faith that I'd actually go up, but...I'd feel dumb getting this far and bailing.”

“You drove here?” Ford asked, confused. He had assumed that Stan's hotel was close by...after all, Jimmy had seemingly walked over to the dorm, since he didn't get in a car to take Ford to the restaurant.

“Yeah, we have a rental. I don't need it to get here, but to the place we're going...'snot walking distance.”

“You have a plan?” Ford asked, and was secretly relieved. He hadn't the foggiest what he and Stan were going to do. Sit around on campus? Go get something to eat? In hindsight, he probably should have come up with some ideas.

“Sort of,” Stan said. Ford looked over at his brother, still wondering why his voice was so hostile, so uninviting. But when he looked over, he saw his brother nibbling on his bottom lip, staring at the ground, and shuffling his feet. A sudden realization came over him. Stan wasn't acting this way out of anger, he was acting this way out of nervousness! Maybe even fear? But what did Stan have to be nervous about?

“So, where are we going?” Ford asked as they exited the building. It was so strange to not be able to talk normally with his brother. Usually he couldn't get his brother to shut up. This new silent Stan was not something that he liked. He was terrified that maybe...maybe this was what their relationship was going to be like now. Nothing to talk about, awkward silences, and heavy sighs. 

“You'll see,” Stan said. Ford frowned.

“Why can't you tell me?”

“That's the car,” Stan said, ignoring the question. They walked over to a plain black car, and when they got in, Ford tried again.

“Why can't you tell me where we're going?”

“I'd really rather...It'll be easier to explain when we get there.”

What? Easier to explain? Ford was now completely clueless as to where they were going. He couldn't think of a place that needed explaining.

The car ride was mostly silent. Ford kept coming up with things to say, but was mostly met with one word replies, or grunts. This was pointless. Why had Jimmy thought this would be a good idea? Clearly Stan didn't want to be here. Clearly Stan was only here to please Jimmy.

The thought that Stan had only come to please his friend sent a weird pang of jealousy through Ford. He was very much annoyed that Stan might be thinking of someone else while he was here. Ford was so caught up with this line of thinking that he didn't even realize that Stan had parked the car.

“We're here,” Stan said heavily.

Ford looked up, and stared at the building. “Where is here?”

“You wanted to know why I wear long sleeves,” Stan said, and unbuckled himself so he could turn and face Ford.

“What?” Ford said, thrown. What did that have to do with anything?

Stan rolled up his sleeves and---

Ford sucked in a breath.

Track marks.

Stan was hiding track marks.

“Stanley!” Ford said, horrified. “Are those...those aren't what I think they are?”

“What else would they be?” Stan said, shaking his sleeves back down. “You wanted to know where we are? We're at a...we're...” he trailed off, and scratched the back of his head. “We're at a methadone clinic. Do you know what that is?”

Methadone...why was that word familiar? And then suddenly the connection was there. Ollie's biology class that focused on how drugs and alcohol affected the body. Which treatments worked for which drugs. Methadone, that was for--

“You did heroin?” Ford said softly.

“Alright, I'll take that as a yes, you do know what this place is,” Stan said, and opened up his car door. Ford quickly followed.

“Why the hell did you do heroin?” Ford said, trying to keep the calm in his voice.

“It's...complicated,” Stan said, as Ford caught up with him.

“What's complicated about it?” Ford said, angrily. “Saying yes to a drug is not a complicated thing.”

“It can be!” Stan said, opening the door to the clinic. “Look, Pa...Pa did a bad thing.”

“I know what he did,” Ford said quietly, and Stan raised an eyebrow.

“How?”

“Forced it out of Ma.”

“Ah,” Stan said, and looked uncomfortable. “Well, good, I don't have to explain. Sit there would you?” Stan said, pointing to a waiting area.

Ford watched his brother check in, and it wasn't long before Stan returned to sit by him.

“Wait shouldn't be too long,” Stan said. 

“So are you gonna finish?” Ford asked.

“Finish what?”

“Stan.” Ford said, glaring at him. “Finish telling me what the hell happened.”

“Oh. Um, so Pa hit me, and I was bleeding--”

“You were _bleeding?_ ” Ford said, and felt like he was going to throw up. He couldn't believe that his father had hit Stan so hard that it had broken skin.

“I thought you said you knew what had happened,” Stan said, giving Ford a confused look.

“All she said was that he cracked a plate over your head.”

“Well, it made me bleed,” Stan said. “Anyway, the pain was extreme, and I ran into Carla and her boyfriend, and he offered it to me to help the pain go away and everything kind of went to shit.”

“You shouldn't've accepted it,” Ford said, staring at his knees. “You're lucky you didn't overdose.”

Stan was silent, and when Ford looked over at him, his brother refused to make eye contact. Ford's stomach dropped.

“You DID overdose!” 

“Yeah, but Jimmy found me, and took me to the hospital and helped me get clean, so you know, who cares, right?”

Ford punched Stan in the arm so hard that his twin nearly fell off of his chair.

“I care!” Ford said, unadulterated anger in his voice, “I care! What if Jimmy hadn't been there, and you had died? What then?”

“I dunno, it would've sucked?” Stan said. Ford turned his back on Stan and crossed his arms. _It would've sucked._ That didn't even scratched the surface of what it would've been like. 

“Look, Ford I--”

“On your gravestone,” Ford interrupted, still turned away from Stan, “I would've had inscribed, 'Stanley Pines—Beloved son, cherished brother, useless jerk who didn't deserve the friends and family he had.'”

Stan went quiet. Ford knew that what he had said was incredibly rude, and honestly not called for, but in that moment, he truly felt it. How could his brother have done this? What kind of selfish bullshit? Ford took a couple of calming breaths, before turning to face his brother.

“I don't think they'd let you do that,” Stan said, before Ford could even open his mouth to say something.

“What, inscribe that on your grave stone?”

“Yeah,” Stan said. “I dunno if you're allowed to be that disrespectful towards the dead.”

“Well...then I'd do it myself, and in the dead of night, I'd swap the stones.”

Stan snorted. “You aren't that strong.”

“Hey now!” Ford said. “I am _plenty strong._ ”

“Pines, Stanley?”

The two looked over, and saw a nurse looking expectantly around the room. Stan stood up.

“I'll be right back, okay sixer?”

“Yeah alright,” Ford said, happiness blooming in his chest at the sound of his nickname. But the sadness and hurt from the situation at hand quickly squashed it. Now he knew why Stan had been so nervous earlier. For good reason too. But once, many months ago, when Ford had admitted his feelings to Stan, his brother had said that you could pit Ford against anything in his life, and Ford would win every time. It didn't matter what Ford felt, Stan would love him all the same. And the same was true with how Ford felt about Stan. It didn't matter what stupid shit Stan had done, it didn't matter if society told him he should kick him to the curb, Ford loved him. And there was nothing Stan could do that would change that.

Stan emerged a minute later, and gestured that he was ready to leave. Ford stood up and enveloped him in a bear hug.

“What's this?” Stan said, awkwardly returning the embrace.

“It's a hug,” Ford said.

“Okay, but why?” Stan asked with a laugh.

“Because I'm glad you're safe, that you're here, and that you're alive.”

“Me too, buddy.”

When they got back into the car, Ford found that his brother was much more talkative. But annoyingly enough, all he had to talk about was his stupid friend Jimmy. Jimmy this, Jimmy that. Ford knew that he should be grateful that this man had saved his brother, and given him a place to stay. He knew that he should be happy that his brother had such a great friend. But was it normal to talk about a friend like this? Was it normal to talk at great length about what an amazing musician he was and did you know he went to Julliard can you believe how talented he is?

Ford almost wanted to change the subject to Ollie, but considering the fact that Ollie was the one who had kissed him, that probably wasn't going to be a great idea. Maybe he could enthuse about Fiddleford. Talk about how wonderful and talented and handsome he was. Alright, Stan hadn't said anything about Jimmy's looks, but he had to be thinking it! How could you not? How could he not lie awake in Jimmy's apartment thinking about how pretty his friend was, thinking about--

Okay he needed to stop this line of thinking, and fast.

“So uh, what do you want to do now?” Ford asked, interrupting whatever nonsense his brother was saying about Jimmy.

“Oh, I dunno. Wanna get a drink?”

“Stan, we're underage.”

“Well, I was thinking a soda. Why'd your mind go to alcohol so fast?” Stan said, raising an eyebrow.

“I...I have a lot of overage friends, and I'm just used to 'get a drink' meaning alcohol,” Ford shrugged. Stan must think he was a drinker now. But he wasn't, not really! Sure, on the occasion, when he was in a locked room with overage friends and nobody else was on their floor.

“Yeah okay...lush.”

“I am NOT a lush!” Ford said, balling his fists in his lap.

“Sure,” Stan said, a playful grin on his face.

“You have no place to tell me I'm a lush. That would be a case of the pot calling the kettle black.”

“A drinking problem is not what I have, dumbass.”

“Yeah well, they're still drugs.” Ford pouted.

Stan laughed at this, shaking his head. “You cannot equate heroin to alcohol, dummy. Anyway, where do you want to go?”

“We could go to the mall,” Ford suggested.

“Isn't hanging out at the mall something 15 year old girls do?” Stan asked, giving Ford a funny look.

“I don't know, I've never been one,” Ford said grumpily. “But I know they sell soda there. And anyway, maybe those teenage girls have it right! I like to window shop.”

“Well shit, lets go then!” Stan said. “Where is it?”

“Um. Go back to the dorm, I think I can get us to the mall from there.” The last time Ford had gone, he'd been on a bus, and hadn't paid a whole lot of attention to where he was going. 

Their time at the mall was pretty fun until they went to the food court to get sodas. They had a small struggle over who was paying, but eventually Ford won, shoving his cash into the surprised hands of the cashier before Stan.

When they finally sat down, Stan took one sip of his drink before going in for the kill.

“So you told Jimmy what went down with that guy. Are you ever gonna actually tell me, to my face, why you were kissing him?”

Ford choked on his drink.

“What uh...what did you want to know?” Ford asked, feeling his ears turn red.

“Everything,” Stan said, leaning back on his chair. “I ran off when you were going to explain, so I'd like to hear it now.”

“Yeah, but didn't Jimmy...?”

“Yes, but it would be nice to hear it from you!” Stan said, sounding frustrated. “Why are you so hesitant to tell me?”

“Because...I don't know!” Ford said, putting his drink down on the small table between them. “It's not pleasant.”

“I got my unpleasant biz out of the way, now it's your turn.”

Ford sighed. “Ollie and I are...or _were,_ I guess...really good friends. Almost immediately. We just clicked, you know?” Ford looked up at his brother, and saw a blank, unreadable face. “And I guess he fell for me, but I didn't even realize. It had to be pointed out to me. So one day we decided to study, as usual, and...he decided to kiss me.”

“What would you have done if I hadn't showed up?” Stan said calmly.

Ford blinked at him.

“What?”

“When I saw you, you weren't making any move to stop him,” Stan said, eyes cold. “If I hadn't been there, what would you have done?”

“Pushed him off, of course!” Ford said, but as the words came out of his mouth, a little voice in the back of his head said 'are you sure?'

Of course he was sure. He hadn't wanted it while it was happening. But what about after? What if Ollie had been persistent? Ford hated saying no...would he have given in, simply to avoid conflict? He would like to think that wouldn't've, that he would've made sure to stick to his promise to Stan.

“Okay,” Stan said, leaning forwards so that all four feet of his chair were on the ground. “I just...I had to know. But...you're not a liar.”

“Jimmy said the same thing,” Ford said. “How do you guys know that? What if I've matured into the biggest liar ever?”

“Look, I learned how to lie at our mother's knee, okay?” Stan said. “She's the one who taught me how to secret keep, how to bend the truth. But with you...She didn't need to do that, because you never needed to lie about anything. You don't break the rules, you get perfect grades...what did you ever have to lie about? What _would_ you ever have to lie about?”

“Nothing,” Ford grumbled.

“Are you actually upset that you don't have a reputation as a liar?”

“No!” Ford said, cheeks turning pink as he realized the ridiculousness of the situation. “No...I...I dunno, I feel like...”

“You feel like since you're good at everything, lying should be one of your strengths too?” Stan said, a crooked smile on his face.

“No,” Ford said, but the truth was clearly etched on his face. Stan laughed.

“You can't be good at everything,” Stan said. “Even if you want to be.”

It didn't take long for the two men to grow bored of the mall, so they drove back to Ford's dorm. Stan walked Ford up to the front door, and gave him a hug.

“Alright, well, I guess I'm going then.”

“No, wait!” Ford said, “Don't go yet! I...I want to talk to you still.” There was something that had been bothering him the whole time they had been hanging out. A thought had taken root in his brain and he had to make sure that it was just paranoia...

“Talk 'bout what?” Stan asked. “Didn't we cover everything?”

This sent a pang of sorrow through Ford. Shouldn't Stan still want to talk? Was this it? Had they covered everything that Stan felt like saying and now there was nothing more? Would there never be more? And it had been going so well...

“Please?” Ford said. 

Stan shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground. “Yeah okay.”

Ford bit his lip. Why was his brother in such a hurry to go? The thought giving him such anxiety began to grow. He tried to shake it off. 

“Alright, let's go up,” Ford said, gesturing towards the dorm door.

“What, we can't do it here?” Stan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Stan, I kind of want to have some privacy!” Ford said, frustrated. The whole day had been spent in public. It would be nice to have a one-on-one conversation that nobody could listen in on.

“Okay, have it your way,” Stan said, and they entered the building.

* * *

“So my room is just down the hallway over here,” Ford said, as they got off of the elevator, his voice a little shaky. Stan rolled his eyes.

“I was _just up here,_ ” Stan said. “My memory isn't perfect, but it's not _that_ bad.”

“Oh right,” Ford said, as they reached the door. “Almost forgot.” 

Stan watched as Ford fumbled with his keys and wondered why on Earth his brother was so fucking jittery. What did he want to talk about that had him so nervous?

“So, you didn't actually get to see my room,” Ford said, opening the door. “It's not much, and it's like living in a closet, but it's home for right now.”

Stan stepped in and looked around. His brother had not been wrong, it was a very small space. Ford's side of the room was closest to the door, and his roommate's was on the far end by the one window they had. That side of the room was immaculate, not a single item out of place. 

“Your roommate makes you look like a slob,” Stan observed, receiving an angry huff as a reply.

“I'm not a slob!” Ford said. “Fiddleford is just weirdly clean. You could probably use his clothing as medical dressing he washes it so often.”

“Where is he?” Stan asked. 

“He won't be here today,” Ford said. “He's with his boyfriend, he'll be back Monday.”

“Can I sit on your bed?” Stan asked, and Ford nodded. The bed was actually quite comfortable, and Stan considered flopping backwards and stretching out on it. He looked over at Ford, fully expecting his brother to be sitting in his desk chair, but found that he was standing awkwardly, looking out of place in his own room.

“Well kick off your shoes and stay awhile!” Stan said with a small laugh. “Why are you just standing there?”

Ford walked over to the bed and sat down stiffly. He had his hands folded in his lap, and looked as though he was a school kid in trouble with the principal. Stan had no idea what he was supposed to do or say. Ford had been the one who had wanted to talk to him, who had asked him to come up here. And yet he wasn't saying a word.

“You gonna say something?” Stan finally asked, trying to break the tension that Ford's strange body language was causing.

“You slept with Jimmy,” Ford finally blurted out.

“What?” Stan said, shocked. Had Jimmy said something to Ford? “Look, I...not exactly...but it was after I saw you and Ollie, and I mean...I don't even know if you could call it sleeping together.” Stan said. 

There was a small silence. Ford stared at his feet, and Stan felt utterly confused.

“How did you know?” he finally asked.

“I didn't,” Ford said, his voice choked. “But if you cast enough lures, you're bound to land a fish.”

Oh.

“Ford--”

“Is it because he's better looking?” Ford said, turning to face Stan. “'Cause he's really nice looking, I know you've noticed, it'd be impossible not to! Or...or is he smarter than me? Is he nicer than me? Is he--”

“Ford _stop!_ ” Stan said, grabbing his brother by the shoulders. “My feelings were hurt, so I--”

“So you cheated on me?” Ford said, his eyes filling with tears. “You could've stayed and listened to what I had to say! But no, your first instinct was to go sleep with someone else?”

“I didn't say it was a good idea!” Stan said, frustrated. “And it wasn't my first instinct. My first instinct was to run away. That's kind of what was happening when I tried to get in bed with Jimmy. I wanted to run away from my feelings, from...from what I thought had happened.”

Ford shook Stan off and turned away from him. This was going terribly. Stan knew he was one wrong move away from losing his brother for good. 

“Is he better than me?” Ford said in what was nearly a whisper.

Stan blinked.

“Is he what now?”

“Is he better than me?” Ford asked again, his voice stronger this time.

Stan's first reaction was to say 'in what way?' but he knew that would be met with anger. He had to give a firm answer.

“No.”

“I don't believe you.”

Stan breathed out hard through his nose. “Why not?”

“Because he's _older,_ or at least he looks older...he's bound to have had more experience than me!” Ford said, putting his elbows on his knees and leaning his face in his hands. “I have no experience at all.”

“Wait, hold on,” Stan said, suddenly understanding. “You don't just mean in general, do you? You mean like...in bed?”

“Yes,” Ford said, glancing over at Stan. “Does that change your answer?” 

“No? I mean, we didn't really do anything,” Stan said, frowning. “So, there isn't really anything to compare.”

“Well did you kiss him?” Ford asked, looking up at Stan. 

“Fuck, Ford, do we have to--?”

“Did you?” 

Stan sighed, and rested his forehead in one of his hands. “Yes, I kissed Jimmy.”

“Was it better?”

“No!” Stan said. “Ford, sit up and look at me.” Ford did as he was told, and Stan wrapped an arm around his brother's waist.

“You're way better than him,” Stan said softly, cupping Ford's face in one of his hands. “Would you like to know why? Would you like to know how I really feel about you?”

“No, I'd rather spend my whole life in uncertainty, left to speculate, left to wonder--”

“Goddamit Ford, I'm _trying_ to be serious with you,” Stan said, dropping his hand and glaring at him. “Being a fuckin' smartass is my job, not yours.”

“Sorry,” Ford mumbled.

“I love you.” Stan said, stroking the side of Ford's face. “Nobody in the whole wide world can make me feel the way I feel when I'm with you, because I love you. You could be the worst kisser in the world—which you aren't by the way—but if you were, your kisses would still be the best ones because I'm in love with you Ford.” 

Ford gave him a watery smile, and Stan bent down and kissed him. His brother reached his arms up and wrapped them around Stan's neck, returning the kiss. They weren't rough and hot, but instead gentle and loving. They were meant to bring comfort, meant to convey feelings that Stan couldn't say with words because the words...they didn't exist. His feelings were too strong, too vital.

The twins had often been described by their teachers as 'kinesthetic learners.' Movement, action, using the body was much more helpful to them than just listening to someone talk. Maybe this was true outside of the classroom as well. Stan could say whatever he wanted, but perhaps Ford wouldn't get it unless Stan showed him. However, Stan had been burned by this logic in the past. Often he thought that having a physical relationship with someone would mean that he could tap into a spiritual one. Time and time again he would try and remind himself that physical relationships were just that—physical. The moment shared did not guarantee him anything more than what it was on the surface.

But Ford was like him. So maybe, just maybe, it would be different this time. If Stan held him long enough, kissed him hard enough...maybe he would understand just how awful Stan felt, and understand how much Stan really loved him.

Ford grabbed at Stan's shirt, leaning backwards onto the bed and pulling him on top of him. Stan followed him down, not once breaking away from their kissing. Ford threaded his hands through his brother's hair and pulled gently. Stan moaned into his brother's mouth, and Ford smiled.

“I thought,” Ford said in a breathy voice, “that I remembered you liking having your hair pulled. And...and now that it's so long it's...it's easier to get a grip.”

“You can...you can do it more if you want,” Stan panted, and resumed kissing Ford, this time more passionately. Ford began to pull at Stan's hair as they kissed, harder this time, and Stan could feel himself stiffening considerably. His twin seemed to notice, and lifted his hips, slowly grinding into him. Stan groaned in pleasure, and felt himself moving in time with his brother's movements.

“Do you wanna...?” Ford asked, in a breathy tone of voice.

“Only if you do,” Stan responded, hoping he was understanding his brother's broken off sentence correctly.

“Can I sit up?”

Stan got off of Ford and let him sit up, only to have his brother push him backwards onto the bed.

“I want to...I wanna make you feel good,” Ford said. 

“Okay,” Stan said. He was surprised that Ford wanted to take control, considering that the first and last time he'd done anything sexual was when he'd been with Stan all those many months ago.

“I wanna make you...I want you to know...”

“Know what?” Stan asked, looking up into Ford's face.

“That I love you,” Ford said. “I want you to know that I would never...” 

Stan grabbed a fist full of Ford's shirt, pulled him down, and kissed him deeply. It seemed as though Ford had the same idea that Stan had had, to show not tell.

“I know,” Stan muttered. “I'm sorry for ever doubting you.”

Words were no longer needed at this point, the room full of the sounds of their heavy breathing and feverish kissing. Ford trailed gentle kisses along his twin's jawline, and down his neck, drawing out tiny whines of pleasure from Stan.

Ford pulled at the front of Stan's shirt, and scrunched it into his hand. “Take this off,” he said.

“Yeah okay,” Stan said, batting Ford's hand away and pulling it off of himself. He felt like blushing as he watched his brother take him in. He was self conscious of his body, having dropped a significant amount of weight during the time he was using. Stan was slowly putting the weight back on, but he didn't feel attractive, or sexy, and regretted letting his brother see him. Just as he was going to ask his brother for his shirt back, Ford spoke.

“Turn over,” Ford said. 

“What do you want to...?”

“Please?”

Stan nodded, and flipped over. Ford straddled him, and gently began to kiss his spine. He started at the nape of Stan's neck, and worked his way down, kissing slowly and deliberately. Ford trailed the very tips of his fingers along Stan's sides as he did so, and Stan felt himself shudder. This was a very new, very different kind of pleasure than what he was used to. It was more sensual than anything, filling him with desire.

Ford reached the top of Stan's jeans and paused. “Can I take these off?” he asked.

Stan smiled. He had forgotten how nervous and polite his brother was. “Go for it,” he said. Ford tried to slide them off, but Stan ended up having to help him get them off. 

“You need to get looser jeans,” Ford said, tossing the pants off of the bed.

“They are loose!” Stan insisted. The jeans were looser than his usual style, to cover how bony he had gotten, but they were still tighter than anything Ford would approve of.

“They might not be skin tight, but they aren't loose.”

“What do you have against tight jeans?” Stan said, flipping over onto his back, getting an annoyed grunt from his brother.

“I don't,” Ford said. “I even own a pair, but--”

“Wait really?” Stan said, sitting up, eyes growing wide. “I want to see them! You have to wear them for me! Can you wear them now?”

“Stanley!” Ford said, extremely irritated. “You can see the pants later! Can we...continue and not talk about pants anymore?”

“You started it,” Stan said, lying back down.

“Whatever,” Ford said. “Now could you...could you...” he blushed, and Stan cocked his head.

“Could I what?”

“Um.” Ford said, and looked to the side. Stan worked very hard not to roll his eyes. One thing hadn't changed—Ford was still nervous in the bedroom.

“Ford, what do you want me to do?”

“Look, I...had a friend talk about...something...and I wanted to do it, but it's kind of embarrassing.”

Stan couldn't help it, this time he really did roll his eyes. “Are you seriously not going to tell me what it is?”

“I...”

Stan sighed, and flipped over on his stomach. “This is how you had me before. “Still what you want?”

“Sort of,” Ford said, and surprised Stan by pulling his hips up.

“Can I pull these down?” Ford asked, snapping Stan lightly with the waistband of his boxers.

“Yeah, sure.” As soon as they were down, he felt Ford spread him slightly. Before he could ask his brother what exactly it was that he planned, Ford bent down and licked his opening with a flat tongue.

Stan gasped. That was the last thing he would've expected his brother to do, but god was he happy that it had happened.

“Is that okay?” Ford asked anxiously.

“Keep going,” Stan replied, and his bother responded enthusiastically. He flicked and swirled his tongue, and Stan felt himself grow hard. Stan wasn't sure how, but he was convinced that this alone could make him come.

And then Ford pierced him with his tongue, and Stan let out the moan that he was trying to hold in. His brother was fucking him with his tongue, and he realized he wanted more than this, needed more than this.

“F-ford stop a second,” Stan managed to get out. Ford stopped immediately.

“You okay?” Ford asked, sounding concerned.

“Yeah, no, it's great I just want you to fuck me.”

“You want me to what?” Ford said, and Stan didn't need to turn around to know that his brother had turned a magnificent shade of red.

“I want you to get your lube out, put it on your dick and and fucking ram me.”

“Well I guess I could...”

“Ford, it won't be fun if you don't want to,” Stan said. “Like, seriously, if you don't want to do it, we can just go back to--”

“No! No I can do it! I want to!” Ford said. The room was so small that all Ford had to do was lean to the side slightly, and he was able to open his bedside table's drawer.

“So what do I do?” Ford asked nervously.

“Just put some on your fingers and finger me a little and then put your dick in,” Stan said. He'd done this a couple times before, and he learned the hard way that stretching was a thing you actually had to do.

He heard the cap pop from behind him, and felt a finger gently slide inside of him. Unfortunately it just felt like a finger up his ass, as Ford had no idea what he was doing.

“Fuck me with your finger, Ford,” Stan said, and Ford stuttered out an “Okay” before beginning to move.

As Ford inserted more fingers, Stan began to shout out directions, something that Ford seemed to appreciate. His brother was very unsure in his movements, and when he finally found the spot he was supposed to be hitting, he completely stopped moving when Stan shouted out in pleasure.

“So that's where--”

“Why the FUCK did you stop?”

“Oh uh...sorry.”

When Ford finally felt ready, Stan heard him undo his belt and slide his pants off. Once more, he heard the popping sound of a cap, and then, _finally,_ felt his brother slide into him.

There was slight sting of pain as Ford did so, but that was half the reason why Stan enjoyed it so much. Ford groaned from behind him, and when he got all the way to the base of his dick, he stopped.

“Does it hurt?”

“It's fine,” Stan said. “What I want you to do,” he said, foreseeing that his brother was going to fuck him as gently as possible, “is grab my hair. And after that, when you thrust into me, I want you to imagine that you're trying to smack my head into the wall in front of me.”

“O-okay,” Ford stuttered, and grabbed a hand full of Stan's hair, pulling slightly. And just as Stan had expected, his brother began to move extremely slowly.

“Ford what did I say?” 

“I don't want to hurt you!”

“You're not going to!” Stan said frustrated. He felt Ford pull out almost all the way and then slam into him with almost all of his strength.

“Yes!” Stan gasped. “Like that!”

Ford got a tighter grip on Stan's hair, and practically yanked it as he began to jackhammer into his brother. Stan knew that some of the hairs were being pulled out of his head, and he loved it, shouting encouragements to his brother, and gripping the sheets. More than once Ford pulled his hair so hard that Stan's head was forced backwards, but that just made him shout louder.

The two of them were being incredibly noisy, but Stan didn't care. It didn't matter to him who heard, or what they thought. He had been craving sex with his brother for so long, and now that he was getting it, he wasn't going to let something like politeness or courtesy get in his way of him having a good time.

With a shout of Ford's name, Stan came. He felt slightly bad that there was now cum all over his brother's sheets, but didn't have too much time to focus on this since his brother was still in him, still hitting him right on target with each thrust. It didn't take long for Stan to reach orgasm again, and shortly after, Ford hit his as well, bending over and throwing his arms around Stan.

They stayed like that for a minute, coming down from their highs and panting hard. Finally Ford pulled out, and Stan dropped down, immediately regretting his decision. He had momentarily forgotten about the cum, and now it was all over his chest. Oh well, he could wash it off later.

Ford lay down next to him, and began tracing shapes on Stan's back. Stan hummed happily.

“You know,” Stan said sleepily, “We didn't eat anything at the mall, and I'm starving.”

“Wanna go eat?” Ford said, looking happily at his brother.

“Yeah. They got a Taco Bell around here?”

Ford stopped swirling his finger on his back, and when Stan looked up, he saw that his brother looked horrified.

“Taco Bell? Seriously? Look, if you want Mexican food, we can get real, authentic Mexican food, and not just some nasty bastardization. Seriously, that stuff is gross.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Would you say it's more or less gross than your tongue in my ass?”

Ford was silent for a moment.

“There's one about a block away.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I appreciate each and every one of you! Whether you've been here since it first came out, or popped in somewhere a long the way, you're awesome! I love all of the wonderful comments, and am so grateful people leave them.
> 
> I hope to see you in the next stancest fic that I'm putting out called Oxenfree!
> 
> If you want to talk to me about this fic, or anything else, you can find me at subwaystanwich.tumblr.com

“Why are flowers so expensive?” Ford said angrily, checking the price of a bouquet of roses. Fiddleford, who had been looking at a different arrangement shrugged his shoulders.

“Maybe it's the type of flower you're looking at?” he suggested. “Are you sure you want to bring roses?”

“No,” Ford said, turning away from the flowers. “I have no idea what kind of flower I should bring.”

“Did Stan tell you to bring flowers?” Fiddleford asked. “Maybe you could pick something he likes.”

“No, he didn't,” Ford said. “I...I just thought it would be nice. Stan does like roses, but...they're expensive!”

It was Stan's last day in California. He and Jimmy were going out to Valencia to visit a grave of a friend, and apparently, Jimmy had suggested that Ford come along. This had slightly alarmed Ford. What were you supposed to do when you visit a gravesite? He had never even been to a funeral before. The only thing he knew about this sort of thing was from movies, and in the movies, people brought flowers to a grave and set them down. So Ford decided that that was what he would do.

But now he was worried. What if he brought the wrong type of flower? Were there do's and don't's to this sort of thing? What if he decided on a peony, but peonies were considered taboo? Flowers sometimes had meanings, right?

Fiddleford seemed to sense Ford's inner turmoil, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Stanford,” he said, “no matter what you pick, it's going to be fine. Just choose something that you think looks nice, and go with that. Those pink flowers over there look nice, what about them?”

Ford walked over to where Fiddleford had been pointing. The sign said that they were stargazer lilies. They were absolutely lovely.

“Yeah, but what do they mean?” Ford asked. Fiddleford rolled his eyes.

“God, who cares? All that matters is that--”

“I can help you with that.”

The two men turned around. Behind them was a short lady wearing a green apron. Her name tag said Elizabeth. She had an excited look on her face.

“Uh...do you know what they mean?” Ford asked. The woman's already excited face glowed with happiness.

“Yes! As a florist, part of my job is knowing what different plants mean! Stargazer's have a lot of meanings. Purity, wealth, optimism,” she said, ticking them off on her fingers, “I heard one person say that they meant heaven on earth, or reaching a paradise in the afterlife. Haven't heard that one from anyone else but--”

“Then it's perfect!” Ford interrupted with a smile. “How much for a bouquet.”

“A small one is 35, and a larger one with accent flowers is around 60.”

“Aw jeez,” Ford said, putting his face in a hand. “Yeah okay, lets do a small one.”

“So when are you leaving?” Fiddleford asked as they exited the shop. 

“Soon,” Ford said, looking down at his watch. “We should hurry, she kept us kind of late.” The florist had decided to go on about the different meanings of stargazers, and what events people usually bought them for. And while the subject was interesting, Ford did not want to be late.

“Everything okay?” Fiddleford asked, looking over at Ford, who was chewing his bottom lip.

“I'm kind of nervous,” Ford admitted. “The person who we're visiting...she was a friend of Jimmy's, and I don't know...I'm not really friends with Jimmy, so this feels kind of strange.”

“Do you know how she...?” Fiddleford asked awkwardly.

“No, I didn't ask,” Ford said. “I didn't think it'd be appropriate. All I know is her name, Karith.”

They walked in silence for a bit before Fiddleford changed the subject, something that Ford was grateful for. Anything to keep his mind of of what he was about to go do.

When they arrived back at the dorm, they found that Jimmy and Stan were already there. Ford cursed under his breath. He hated being late. His mother had always said 'To be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late, and to be late is to be dead' and he lived by it. Ford always arrived early, but that damn florist!

“Sorry I'm late!” Ford said, rushing over to the two men. “I...I went and got flowers.”

“We just got here,” Stan said, “We've been waiting all of 10 seconds.”

“Are those stargazers?” Jimmy asked, looking at the bouquet.

“Oh, yeah,” Ford said, looking down at them.

“Those were her favorite,” he said simply, and smiled.

“Well that's...good,” Ford said awkwardly. “Uh, oh, this is Fiddleford,” he said, suddenly realizing that his friend was standing next to him. “Um, I think you sort of met him, right Jimmy?”

“We had a small conversation, yes,” Jimmy said, inclining his head. “It's nice to be formally introduced.”

“I'm Stan,” Stan said, giving a small wave.

“Heard lots about you!” Fiddleford said.

“Good things, I hope,” Stan said, with a small smile.

“Nothing but good,” Fiddleford said with a smile. This wasn't strictly true—Ford had gone on a long rant about Stan's drug use, but now was probably not the time to bring that up. “I should probably get going. Have a good time Ford!”

“Um, okay!” Ford said, watching his friend leave. Could you have a good time visiting a dead person? Maybe. In any case, he was going to find out.

“Ready to go?” Jimmy asked. Ford nodded, and the three headed to the car.

“Had a good morning so far?” Stan asked, taking his brother's hand. Ford blushed.

“You're holding my hand,” he said quietly. 

“I'm holding your hand,” Stan said with a grin. “Is that a problem?”

“N-no,” Ford stuttered. “I don't...I don't think so.” Siblings held hands sometimes, right? Men held hands sometimes, right? He wanted to pull away, wanted to make sure that nobody saw...but Stan seemed confident that it was okay, so Ford took a deep breath, and decided to trust in him.

“So you didn't answer my question,” Stan said, letting go of his brother's hand to get into the car. Ford took the back seat, and placed the flowers on the seat next to him.

“Oh, it's been fine. Just hanging out with Fiddleford, buying flowers...What about you two?”

Stan began to talk about what he and Jimmy had been up to, and occasionally Jimmy would make a comment. But Ford noticed that Jimmy was tense, as though he was getting ready to say something unpleasant.

“Stan,” Jimmy said, interrupting Stan's story about a poolside brawl they'd been witness to, “Did you tell Ford anything about Karith?”

Stan's smiled died, and he suddenly looked very serious, an expression that Ford had only seen a handful of times. “I told him her name. I wasn't...I didn't know if you wanted me to...”

“Well, I figure maybe he should know...a little something.” Jimmy said. Ford felt a mixture of nervousness and excitement. He'd wanted to know the details, but what if they were horrible?

“Karith was a friend of mine who was...she died young. Good friend of mine. There's uh...there's an event that they hold at this cemetery...I usually go to that to visit her. This'll be the first time I just...pop in. It'll be nice to have people with me.”

“An event?” Ford asked, curious. Even though Ford could only see the side of Jimmy's face, he could tell that the man was furious with himself for bringing it up.

“Y-yeah. It's...there's a...it's a thing for family and friends of murdered children.”

His sentence hung in the air, and it took a moment for Ford to fully process what had been said.

“M-murdered children?”

“Yes.”

“She was...?”

“Yes.”

Ford decided not to press the subject, but was extremely curious. He'd heard about murders on the news, and movies and books loved a good killing...but it never seemed like something that would happen to him, or someone that he knew.

“There's a wall, actually,” Jimmy said, breaking the silence. “A wall that they put in the cemetery specifically for those kids. Has names engraved on it. Hers is there. There's a...day of remembrance, and I usually go to it. Wasn't able to make it this year.”

The car went silent again. This time, it was Stan who broke it.

“I'm sure she's okay with it.”

Jimmy looked surprised, and then his face softened and he gave Stan a teary eyed smile. “Thanks. I...you're right.”

Ford almost burst out with a 'she's dead she doesn't know you weren't there,' but as the thought crossed his mind, he was suddenly reminded of his brother's overdose. If Stan had died...well he would definitely feel guilty if he went to the grave every year except for one.

When they finally arrived at the cemetary, Ford was surprised at how pretty it was. There were paths and benches, and beautiful trees...it wasn't spook or unnerving at all. They got out of the car, and Jimmy took them over to a large willow tree. Under that was white marble gravestone. Etched into it was

Karith Marie Iron Eyes  
1954-1970  
To live in the hearts of those we love is to never die

“Iron Eyes,” Ford read aloud. “That's an interesting last name.”

“One of her ancestors wore glasses,” Jimmy said. Ford frowned at him.

“Ok.”

“No, I mean that's where the name came from,” Jimmy said, slightly flustered. “A lot of people would tell her how cool and badass her name was, and she always found that funny since it's just because one of her ancestors wore glasses.”

“That's a lot better than four eyes,” Stan said. “That's what I got called. If people had called me Iron Eyes I totally would've kept wearing them.”

Jimmy turned to Stan, looking surprised. “You wear glasses?”

“I'm supposed to,” Stan said, shrugging. “But I don't really need them. I just have a slight astigmatism, nothing serious. Just makes things a little blurry.”

“People called me four eyes and I still wear mine,” Ford said.

“Well yeah, that's because you can only see blobs of color without them,” Stan said. “I tried switching glasses with him once, and now I'm convinced he's actually part mole.”

“If I'm part mole, so are you,” Ford said, glaring at him. “We're twins.” He looked away from his brother, and focused his attention to the grave. “She was only 16?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “She had so many things she wanted to do...But. Shit happens.”

Once more, Ford decided not to press the subject, and placed the flowers on top of the grave. 

“So,” Jimmy said, squatting down, “This is Stan and his brother...boyfriend...whatever, Ford. Sorry I didn't come earlier.” Jimmy stood back up, and looked back down at the grave, frowning. “You know,” he said, “I had this whole speech planned out, but now it seems kind of dumb. But...every time I visit you, I always wonder if I could've done something to prevent you from dying. But I guess that's pointless. I'm just grateful I got to know you at all. Wish you could meet these guys with me. You would've liked them.”

“Yeah, sounds like you were really cool,” Stan said, jumping in. “And you've got a cool name, and...I've seen pictures of you dancing, and you look like you were really good. And Ford got you some nice flowers.”

Ford jumped slightly at the mention of his name. Was he supposed to say something now? “Jimmy said they're your favorite, but I didn't know that until after, so maybe it's fate if...you know, if you believe in fate, I mean it was probably just a happy accident, but you know fate is kind of fun to believe in but honestly, I don't really...I mean...I don't know know what I'm saying.” Ford said, throwing his hands in the air, “I don't know you, I don't really know Jimmy, I don't know why I'm here, or why you're here. I mean I guess I know why you're here? Someone killed you? I'm sorry it happened. You were really young. That's not fair. But nothing is fair! Life isn't fair. Yeah.”

_What the fuck was that?_ Ford thought to himself. Jimmy and Stan had both said something nice, and he had just opened his mouth and let out a bunch of word vomit that didn't really make sense. 

“Sorry...” Ford said, not looking at the other two. “I don't know what that was.”

“It's okay,” Jimmy said. “You can say whatever you want. She's a good listener.”

Ford smiled at this. “I'm sure she is.”

“I brought you here,” Jimmy said, “Because it's Stan's last day here, I wanted to make sure you guys got to see each other before we leave tomorrow. Our plane leaves bright and early, so...I thought you coming with us would be good. So now you know why you're here.”

“Oh,” Ford said looking up at Jimmy. “Thanks.”

“She's here, because a friend shot her in the face.”

“Oh my god!” Ford said, horrified. “Why did they do that?”

“He was high,” Jimmy said. “he's out of jail now but the knowledge he killed one of his friends is punishment enough in my opinion. He has to live with that every single day.” Jimmy's hands were clenched, and his eyes cold.

They stayed at the cemetery a little longer, the three of them talking to Karith, but also to each other, just shooting the breeze. Ford found himself liking Jimmy immensely, and was glad that this was the person taking care of his brother. When they finally decided to leave, Ford was happy that he had been invited to come along.

“Did you still want to get that tattoo?” Jimmy asked Stan when they got into the car.

“Oh, I mean, if your friend is okay with--”

“You're getting a tattoo?” Ford said, shocked. Stan had mentioned wanting to get matching tattoos with Ford, but Ford had shot him down. At the time, the thought of getting a tattoo was scary. What if they regretted it? What would their parents say?

“I'd...yeah, I am.” Stan said. “Wanna go with us?”

“Ok,” Ford said, and buckled himself in. “Why not?”

“My friend's place is pretty close by,” Jimmy said, pulling out of the parking lot. “He's a great guy, you'll like him.”

As it so happened, the man was a lot like Jimmy. Intimidating to look at, but a softie at heart. His name was Ezra, and he was a brick house of a man. He was covered in tattoos, and it seemed liked Ezra's face was the only part of him that didn't have ink. Instead, it had piercings. Nose piercings, ear piercings, lip piercings, ear piercings...it seemed like if you could stick a needle through it, Ezra had done it.

“Jimmy!” the man boomed, wrapping him in a bear hug the second he caught sight of them. “It's been forever!”

“It has,” Jimmy said. “But I'm not just here to visit. Remember Jessica?”

“You calling that in?” Ezra asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I'm calling it in.”

“Alright, what do you want?” Ezra asked, a jovial look on his face. 

“Not for me, for my friend,” Jimmy said, jerking a thumb back at Stan. “It's his birthday present.”

“Oh ho!” Ezra said happily. “Get over here, kid! I do need some ID first though.”

After Stan showed him his driver's license, Ezra sat him down and began to talk about what he wanted. They both agreed that it would need to be something simple, especially since Ezra was going to do it for free. Stan was very indecisive. He had a lot of ideas, but was unsure about every single one of them.

“What I really want is a silhouette of a pine tree, because my last name is Pines but...I kind of...that's the...”

“Is that the one you wanted to get with me?” Ford asked, stepping forwards. Ezra looked past Stan to look over at Ford, and cocked his head.

“Twins?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Ezra said thoughtfully, “I suppose I could do both of you...Jimmy really helped me out of a very sticky situation. But only if you want.”

“I...um...I guess? Okay!” Ford said, hardly knowing what he was saying. Was he really going to do this? Was this actually about to happen?

Ezra went to the back room and came back with two stencils. They decided they wanted the trees on their left forearms. The stencils were applied, and the two brothers agreed that it looked good. Ford could feel his heart beating fast as he watched Ezra set up his station.

“You're positive you want to do this?” Stan said, looking Ford in the eyes. “You can always back out, it's okay.”

“No, it's okay, this is good.” Ford said. “Not what I was expecting to do with my day though.”

“Well, you'll be forced to remember me this way,” Stan said, as Ezra turned the machine on.

“I wouldn't forget you!” Ford said.

“You didn't write.”

“I didn't have time!” Ford said defensively. “But...I'll make time, okay? When you leave. I'll...I'll write to you, I promise.”

Ford watched as the needle came down. Stan winced a little bit, but overall seemed very calm. 

“Does it hurt?”

“Like a motherfucker,” Stan said. “But it's not as bad as you'd think.”

As Ford watched the outline being made, he couldn't help but feel as if these tattoos were a symbol of their bond. They would be there forever, just as the two of them would be there for each other, forever.

 

_The End_


End file.
